


The Implementation Game

by starkind



Series: "That will be all, Mister Wayne." [3]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bruce Wayne Whump, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Dark Tony Stark, Deviates From Canon, Extremis (Marvel), M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2019-10-12 20:03:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 31,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17474108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkind/pseuds/starkind
Summary: The final installment of this series. Will deal with some underlying, darker themes especially at the beginning, so please mind the chapter notes, read at your own discretion, and stay safe to not feel triggered in any form. Thank you and I hope you enjoy :)





	1. ~prologue~

**Author's Note:**

> The final installment of this series. Will deal with some underlying, darker themes especially at the beginning, so please mind the chapter notes, read at your own discretion, and stay safe to not feel triggered in any form. Thank you and I hope you enjoy :)

_Then._

He woke with a gasp and found himself surrounded by complete darkness.

The air was stale and he stifled a moan upon feeling some sort of breathing apparatus sealed over his nose and mouth. The slightest movement brought instant pain and the realization that he was trapped within confines which left no room to rise, let alone move. Panic kicked in, despite years of training and conditioning, and his knees and elbows knocked into soft-padded walls which did not budge or give an inch.

His breathing became more erratic, resulting in the mouthpiece filling with droplets of moisture. When he thought he would pass out from sheer hyperventilation, there was a scraping sound outside before the cover got lifted. “I'd apologize for the current circumstances of your transportation, but the end justifies all means.” Bruce's frantic eyes darted from the familiar countenance down to his surroundings and back.

He tried to reach for the breathing apparatus and take it off. All it got him was a stern shake of a head. “The oxygen supply is going to last another 72 hours. You should still be mindful of your consumption rate.” Wayne started to frown and made a fumbling attempt at getting up. His opposite sighed at his growing agitation and produced an item the size of a car key. It had a glittering, sharp needle on one end.

"There is no other choice for the moment."

Bruce made a muffled sound of protest and tried to twist away, but then there already was a pricking sensation on the side of his throat. “A muscle relaxant. Also lowers your body temperature enough to fool any biometric scanners.” Feeling the instant effect of whatever drug was entering his bloodstream, Bruce's vision started to blur as his limbs turned heavy and sluggish. Soon, the voice above was nothing more than a far-away hum.

“Once you're out of country, stay out of country. Don't trust anyone.”  
Nick Fury moved to lower the lid of the coffin again, pausing one final time.  
“It's been a pleasure, Agent Wayne.”

_~~~_

_Now._

For the first weeks after the assassination, Tony was kept under heavy sedation to make him get at least some sort of rest. The Mandarin had been taken down by the National Guard, but it left Stark feeling bereft of his revenge as soon as he learned of it. Rhodey and Happy took turns in watching over him, together with an ever-present Jarvis, but despite their best efforts, Tony Stark remained a hollow-eyed shell of his past self.

Cutting off all ties to the outside world, he holed himself up inside his Malibu mansion, swearing to never lay a foot into the fatal Tower in New York again, and started working on building suit after suit, trying to compensate for the failure that had taken away Bruce's life because of his negligence. The media hassle around his person still remained high, and Tony made the mistake of laying eyes on a gossip magazine once.

Seeing the big bold headline about the TRAGEDY AT STARK PRESS RELEASE – BILLIONAIRE FIANCÉ DIES SAVING HIS LOVER'S LIFE resulted in making him physically sick on the spot. He went to raid the liquor cabinet of the house bar that night, passing out from a drunken stupor around three in the morning. From that moment on, his dormant alcoholism reached a sad new height, up to the point where he was drunk almost 24/7.

Slouching on the couch of his workshop, bottle balancing on his thigh, Tony cast dulled eyes over to his workbench. There, the Bulgari watch sat still inside the plastic bag. A dark, soaked-in bloodstain was on the inside of its strap, but Tony had no energy to clean it or change the leather. He kept on telling himself it was the closest thing left from Bruce. The only thing. Even his Brentwood apartment did not exist anymore.

SHIELD had chosen to keep Wayne's burial site hidden from public, and not even Jarvis was able to find out details on the exact location. And if that was not enough, Nick Fury and his staff had gone off the radar ever since, almost as if the whole organization had been nothing but a figment of Tony's addled imagination. With a grunt, Stark then rose, sloshing some liquor onto the concrete floors of his workshop in the process.

“Sir, may I recommend not adding to your current level of intoxication?”  
Tony held onto the headrest of the sofa.   
“Why'sat?”

Jarvis' disembodied voice echoed through the workshop, carrying nothing but honest concern. "At the current rate, you have already disrupted the balance of your gamma-aminobutyric acid and glutamate inside your brain. Permanent damage to the central nervous system will also lead to reduced tolerance levels." The billionaire hummed and rubbed down his face. "Small favors an' all that."

"No, Sir. It will prevent you from being able to operate the Iron Man armor long-term. And I assume you are going to want to suit up, seeing there is evidence of SI weapons being dealt in Cambodia.” Bleary-eyed, Tony blinked over at the dark screens of his mainframe. “What?” Upon seeing the grainy satellite footage of men in guerrilla uniforms, carrying out crates with emblazoned Stark Industries' logos, Tony put the bottle aside.

"I'll take a shower. Have an espresso ready. Double shot."

"Coming right up, Sir."

After a cold shower, and fired up on caffeine and a vitamin-laden smoothie, Iron Man headed out to Cambodia.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief mention of suicide attempt in this chapter, albeit non-graphic.

Sleeping off his ongoing inebriation, Tony touched down in the southern portion of the Indochinese peninsula several hours later. There, he got doused in a monsoon-like torrent so violent, it almost made his suit's electronics go haywire. Under the mist of sated air and a curtain of rain, he still managed to extinct the gun running business in less than twenty minutes, blasting his past legacy to smithereens.

While he was at it, slicing through weapon crates with the help of his laser cannon, Jarvis blinked a status update top left inside his HUD.

“Sir, we have a visitor.”  
  
Watching the Stark Industries logo become obliterated with grim satisfaction, Tony's eyes then followed the crosshairs tracking the motion of a fast-disappearing silhouette within the tropical forest. “Another little gun runner?” Someone, presumably male, moved in the shadows, stealthy but no match for Iron Man's sensors. Tony crushed the final Stark Industries' rifle between his hands and swung around. “Let's cook him out.”

It took two tries, then a well-aimed repulsor blast to the back brought the guerrilla fighter down to crumble and disappear within the deep undergrowth. By the time Tony had reached him, the man was moving again. With a non-too-gentle booted foot to his midriff, Tony turned him around, only to gasp and visibly recoil when their eyes met. “No. No! Jarvis, tell me I am hallucinating. Badly hungover. Dehydrated. Anything.”

Jarvis rattled off stats before he spoke with factual accuracy. “All of your vitals are in the regular range, despite your heart rate starting to become rapidly elevated.” Iron Man shook his head all the while staggering back when the person in front of him got to his knees. “... It can't be. Can't.” A window popped up right in the middle of his HUD. “Wayne, Bruce. Male. Caucasian. Height 6'1. Blood type 0 Negative.”  
  
Tony's vision blacked out from one second to the other.

+

Once his senses returned one by one, Tony found himself staring up at the darkening skies of Cambodia.

Apparently, Jarvis had seen to maneuver the suit into a horizontal position. When the faceplate lifted, rain hit Tony's skin, and a countenance he thought he would never see again in his life loomed above. Barely recognizable with a full beard and hair down to his shoulders, held back by a tattered bandana, Wayne stared down at him with eyes full of misery and incomprehension. Bile rose from the bottom of Tony's throat.

Without warning, he turned sideways and retched onto damp soil.

Unaffected, Wayne kept on kneeling by his side and un-clipped a small metal flask from his belt. As soon as Tony was only dry heaving, he held it out. “Here. Rinse your mouth.” A shaking, gauntleted hand clasped for the dented flask, then Tony sipped on lukewarm water and spit it out. Once done, he willed the suit into a vertical position and threw the flask onto the ground. “What a twisted, fucked-up, sick person are you?!”

Wayne grabbed it and also rose to his feet in a swift motion. “I thought about you every goddamn minute of each day!” Bruce then lowered his voice down to a snarl. “Not being able to contact you almost tore me apart, but I needed you to be safe, I...-” He heaved a shuddering breath.

“They told me should I ever go and try to seek you out, they had ways to get to you before I could. Project Insight has been monitoring me for weeks until I finally managed to get off its radar.” His voice sounded broken. Tony frowned. “Project Insight?” Wayne nodded and re-attached his small water flask to his belt. “Heavily armed, satellite-linked Helicarriers. They are-” At that, Tony held up a hand, deep frown between his brows.

“-designed to strike out against potential threats, yeah, my company's been involved in the design process for a while.”

Bruce stared at him from underneath a sodden, ratty bandana. “You know that they carry enough power to kill nearly 20 million people?” Tony glared back before he snorted. “They were built to ensure overall civil safety!” Wayne exhaled. “Until it got into the wrong hands. I've seen Project Insight in action. It tracks and roots out individuals in no time. Which means they know where you are as well.” His smile turned brittle.

“You have to leave and get somewhere safe. Right now.”

A dark shadow set over Tony's gaunt features. “What the fuck? I've just found out you're alive after I've been told you were dead - and you tell me to leave?! SHIELD told me you died of your injuries! When I got to the hospital, your room was empty! I jumped off the Tower's roof that night, but Jarvis sent a suit after me.” Bruce inhaled sharply at that bit of information. “God, Tony, I didn't-” Stark shook his head with vigor.

“To learn you've died in my arms – died because of my fucking stupid bravado regarding the Mandarin - was the hardest thing I've ever had to come to terms with. Way harder then Afghanistan and everything about it. They say time is a healer, well, you know what, Wayne? Fuck that theory!” He turned around and hid his face inside a gauntleted palm with a sound that came out like a suppressed sob.

“I tried so hard to make myself forget in so many ways... but nothing helped.”  
When he turned around, his eyes brimmed with excess liquid.  
“Nothing helped, Bruce.”

Devastation lay in those three, final words. Bruce's swallowed and reached out for him. He drew back in an instant when he saw Tony flinch as he was about to cup his side of the face like he used to. “Sorry, I didn't....” Bruce dropped his arm. “You've moved on of course.” Sadness shone back at him. “My bed has been empty ever since. And it would've stayed that way. I'm not quite a widower, but...”

Wayne looked at him with his brows knitted together and a glint in his eyes Tony had never seen before. “I'm so fucking sorry.” With that, Bruce pulled him into a crushing embrace. He buried his face in the crook of Tony's neck and inhaled while his fingers clawed into his armored back.

“Forgive me. I didn't know. I didn't...-”

After returning the hug, Tony then took Bruce's face in between his hands with care and darted his eyes over his flushed cheeks. “There's one thing I need you to understand.” Bruce nodded at the low, serious tone; worry lurking behind his eyes. Tony wet his lips. “I'm gonna kiss you now, and things will go from 0 to 100 really fast, so if you don't want us to end in horizontal, you should probably back off this very inst-”

The rest of his sentence ended in Bruce's mouth.

Ignoring the fact both of their suits were drenched in mud and grime, Tony pressed closer, and Bruce refused to budge. At some point, however, the need for oxygen forced them apart, and Stark gave a shaky smirk. “You taste of swamp water.” Panting with his breath visible in the moist air, Bruce's thumbs traced the sensitive skin under Tony's large, soulful eyes.

“Come with me.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> non-graphic m/m situations

After a long march through lush tropical forests and humid savannas, which Tony spent in his suit but not airborne, they reached a small hut raised on wooden stilts. The roof was made from clay and dried leaves, and there were no windowpanes but tattered fabric serving as blinds. Bruce inspected the skies before he eyed the gleaming metal armor. “Take the suit along. If there's a mudslide, it'll be safer inside.”

Inside was sparser than Tony had imagined. A single room featuring a crooked little bamboo table and a cot with a thin mosquito net hanging from the ceiling. Spiders and a gecko scurried past as he set out to dismantle in the corner. Bruce grabbed a banged-up pot with a handle from the lone shelf at the wall. “I'll be right back.” Putting the armored pieces on the ground one by one, Tony's eyes flew up, alarmed. “Where are you going?”  
  
Bruce tilted the metal pot with a rueful little smile.  
“Preparing the shower.”  
Tony gave a soft hum.

“Great idea.”

+

The shower turned out to be fairly cold water from a bore-well around the corner of the hut. It was framed by three slanted pieces of wood being rammed into the soil, providing at least some sort of shelter. A piece of soap half the size of Tony's palm was resting on a protruding ridge. Upon Bruce's initiative, they started to rid themselves off their soiled clothing until they were left in nothing but their underwear.

Both of them had lost weight, though for entirely different reasons, leaving hard sinewy muscle under taut skin. At the sight of a simple yet solid silver chain around Tony's neck, which carried a ring as a penchant, Bruce felt a bitter sting in his heart. He then motioned for Tony to hold up his Neoprene-like undersuit as he doused it down. Once it hung over the wall to dry, Wayne fetched more water. “You first.”

With that, he started to run fresh water down Tony's arms and upper back, watching his skin erupt in goosebumps despite the sweltering humidity. Stark worked up a lather and scrubbed his hair and body, peeling off his briefs. Bruce did the same himself, and when they faced each other, mutual longing was written all over their bodies. Tony pressed up to his growing arousal and grabbed his neck.

“ _Please._ ”

Instead of waiting for a response, he captured Bruce's mouth and felt him respond with a low grunt before Bruce's hands came up to tilt his head back with his thumbs, deepening the angle. Their kisses became sloppy and urgent as slick fingers started to grope and fumble until they soon had stroked each other to completion, shuddering in each other's embrace, wet lips clinging to equally wet skin.

When Tony went pliant in his arms, Bruce took the added weight without ado. "Better now?” From where he rested against the scarred, familiar body, Tony drew back just enough to wash the stickiness off his skin. “Just getting started.” After toweling off with a threadbare piece of cloth, Bruce offered him a thin stripe out of a rolled-up tube of toothpaste. Tony mimicked him by putting it on his index finger.

After rubbing the paste all over his teeth and tongue he spat it out and rinsed his mouth with sips of bottled water which Bruce handed him. “Think they'll come for us?” Wayne brushed the back of a hand over his mouth. “Yes.” Tony's fist tightened around the sodden towel. “I'm not leaving, least of all letting you go again, mark my words.” At that, Bruce felt for the engagement ring on the chain and encased it in a gentle fist.  
  
“Nothing in this world can drag me away from you. Never again.”

Fingers interlaced, Tony tugged at his arm, pulling him towards the hut. Outside, it got dark fast, so most of their illumination came from the bluish hues of the ARC. The cot inside the corner was barely big enough to accompany one person. After fastening the mosquito net behind him, Tony knelt down and inched along the hard, uneven surface until his naked limbs were stretched out all over Bruce bare body.

For a while, they simply lay enjoying the feel of skin on skin and listened to each other's heartbeats, as well as the sounds of the jungle all around them. While he ran a hand through Tony's thick, wet hair, finger-combing it back with affection, Bruce eventually caught him staring at the scar on his shoulder. The silent question in his eyes made Stark hum without mirth. “I can still see the moment before my inner eye."

"Moment?"

"That exact moment when the bullets hit, you know?”

Tony's index finger reached out to trace the area in question before it circled lower until it had found the second scar below Wayne's ribcage. “Can see the blood rush out of your body, see your lips and face go paler and paler-” Bruce cupped his chin, trying to break the spell he was under. Without further ado, he pressed their lips together and devoured his mouth. After a few seconds, he finally felt Tony respond.

Just like before, their kisses turned fervid in a matter of seconds, and Bruce shifted until Tony was nestled between his splayed legs. “Need to feel you.” At that, Stark gave a desperate hum against his lips. “Lube?” Bruce placed a kiss against the pulse point on Tony's neck and made a negating sound. “Doesn't matter.” Tony drew back. “It's going to hurt.” Long fingers reached for the slightly damp hair curling in his nape.

“Nothing compared to what you've gone through.”

Heavy disagreement mingled with lust on Tony's features. Arousal present, he tore himself away to reach for his dismantled suit and returned to the cot with a flat metal can. Inside was a white, thick paste Bruce recognized as petroleum jelly. Tony smirked as he swiped some on his finger.

“Not much but it'll do.”

They ended up with Bruce's legs hooked around his waist, heels digging into the small of Tony's back. At each thrust, Tony kept his gaze locked on the face below; afraid Bruce would vanish at the first blink of an eye. Even through a haze of lust, the Gothamite saw love and desperation shine back at him in equal shares. He extracted the palm from Tony's nape and placed it square over the glowing ARC.

Face shrouded by the shadows his fingers cast on the reactor, his eyes found those of his lover again. “I love you.” It resulted in a sudden shuddering gasp. Like a puppet whose strings had been cut, Tony lurched forward, but Bruce caught him with ease as his orgasm washed over him. Once Tony was able to move again, he reached in between them and took care of Bruce's pressing need until he, too, groaned out in release.

After the pleasure rush ebbed off and left pleasant drowsiness in its wake, both fell into a light slumber.

Bruce was awake the second he heard Tony whimper in his sleep, twitching on the cot. He ran a hand over his arm, causing Tony to wake with a choked sob moments later. He blinked into the dark, lost and confused despite the close proximity of his fiancé. Bruce made a soothing noise.

“You're safe. You're safe with me. Tony.”

It took a while until realization set in, then Stark sat up to rub at the glowing ARC. “Does it hurt?” Bruce cast his down eyes to inspect the area. Tony pulled a face, fingertips pressing into the scar-tissue around the metal casing. “Constantly, even if the scans show there's nothing wrong.” With a sharp inhale, Bruce's arms went around him, trying to scoop up as much of his body as possible. “I wish I could have spared you all the pain.”

That night, lying in the arms of the man Tony Stark thought he would never see again, he cried for the first time in years. Cried as though he relieved all of the nightmares of the past months anew. Bruce Wayne was there to hold him close throughout all of his catharsis without urging him to speak. At some point, when there were no more tears to fall, Tony cleared his throat with new-found determination.

“Your face haunted me for weeks. But as time passed by, I found myself trying to remember the way you used to look, used to talk. It scared me that my memories were already starting to fade.” Bruce tried to clasp him tighter, but that time Tony managed to evade him, sitting up to look down at him. “Can you believe that? How could I forget after such a short time? The only thing that mattered to me? What kind of monster am I.”

His eyes held so much misery that Bruce once more reached out without thinking. “Stop torturing yourself. None of this has been your fault. If anything, it was--” The muscles underneath Tony's skin moved as he balled a tight fist. “SHIELD's.” One word, but it was laced with more venom than Bruce was used to hearing from Tony's lips. Wayne swallowed. “Yes." At the bitter disappointment radiating off of him, Stark leaned in close.

“We've both been played, Bruce.”  
His dark eyes blazed fire.  
“And it's about time we make them pay.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

With the help of Jarvis, Tony and Bruce left Cambodia 48 hours later. Stark had seen to have his AI dissolve their tracks to thwart off any potential followers with ill intentions by chartering a handful of aircrafts specialized for long-range flight, and taking stopovers on small, private airfields.

From where he slouched in the plush leather seat of a sleek Gulfstream, elbow on the armrest and chin propped up on a fist, Tony stared out at the darkening skies above the clouds. He could feel the withdrawal symptoms of not having a drink for the past 72 hours and tried to suppress the nervous shake of his hand. Somewhere over the Slovenian Alps, the door to the jet's lavatory opened and Bruce stepped out.

Tony lowered his arm, slipped his hand underneath his thigh, and sat up straighter. “How's the head?” Bruce dropped into the seat across from him, rubbed his forehead, and leaned back. “Took another Tylenol. I'm fine.” At the way he pressed a thumb and an index finger into his eye sockets, however, Tony allowed a small frown to dart over his face. “Sleep some more. We'll be reaching Zermatt in about six and a half hours.”

After months without proper vision and no means to acquire any optical aid, it turned out Bruce was suffering from severe bouts of migraine; a fact he had only grudgingly admitted after Tony had found him outside the hut the morning after, puking his guts out and being unable to stand the day's brightness. The Gothamite took his fingers away and tried not to squint. “Switzerland?” Tony's nod was rather wistful.

“We need to lay low for a while, so what better place to do that than in the Swiss Alps. At a beautiful chalet with a bearskin rug and a fireplace so big you just have to get laid, to be exact.” Bruce's mouth curled underneath its full beard with a sorely missed air of fond exasperation. “You and your priorities.” The debonair expression Tony cast him was more for show than anything else as Stark palmed his chin with his free hand.

“You know me.”

+

The chalet was clean and quiet. With a deep exhale, Tony dropped the bag he had brought along from the jet by the large, open fireplace of the living room area and took a moment to relish the marvelous view of the majestic Matterhorn outside the ceiling-high window front. At their feet, the snow-covered mountains and many illuminated chalets of Zermatt created a stunning panorama at dusk.

Bruce had disappeared in one of the two bathrooms immediately after their arrival, and Tony listened to the sounds of a running shower before he went to order a sumptuous dinner via the chalet's on-site chef. While Tony had not been in Switzerland for years, he was glad that Jarvis had been able to plan ahead for them. His eyes traveled across the room and flew over to where he remembered the house-bar to be.

He did not make a move to check whether it was stocked. It probably would be, seeing housekeeping always made sure to keep the premises ready for imminent usage. Thankfully, the doorbell rang just before the need for a drink won over Tony's rational mind. He gave a more than generous tip to the two young and starstruck employees from service, who were also so kind to light up the stone fireplace for them.

Tony took it upon himself to set the table, foregoing the spacious dining area in favor of the dark wooden table of the living room. While he distributed servings of veal and mushrooms with cream sauce and rösti - grated potatoes in the style of a fritter - his stomach gave a loud rumble upon the delicious smell. Instead of starting to eat alone, he went to get a bottle of water from the kitchen and sipped some while he waited.

Finally, the bathroom door opened and Bruce stepped out, wearing a clean set of nondescript dark clothes. His long, damp hair was neatly combed back, and he carried his previous clothes in a tight bundle. “I thought you wanted to shower as well.” Tony beckoned him over with a shake of the head. “Later. Now come and eat.” A whiff of shower gel caught his nose when Bruce had disposed of his laundry and took a seat next to him.

Bruce accepted a hearty portion being shoveled on his plate and wasted no time digging in. For a while, they ate in greedy silence in front of the crackling fireplace, relishing their first real warm meals in days. When all the food containers and plates were empty, Bruce leaned back into the plush couch and palmed his eyes again. Tony stacked the tableware into a precarious pile and wheeled the serving cart outside. "Be right back." 

Eyes closed and head tilted back, Wayne gave an almost too-easy-to-miss hum. 

+

Once Tony was finished showering and brushing his teeth, he exited the bathroom to find his fiancé fallen asleep in his seated position. For a while, he watched him from atop the small gallery with an almost reverent expression, but then Bruce's eyes snapped open, so Tony hurried to make his way over to him. “Let's get you into bed.” Wayne followed him without actual protest, stopping just long enough to also brush his teeth.

They lay propped up against fluffy big pillows and under fine bed linens next to each other ten minutes later. Warm light from a table lamp on the nightstand illuminated parts of the bedroom, creating a cozy atmosphere compared to the darkness outside. The eiderdown blankets rustled when Bruce rolled over to pin Tony to the mattress. The latter gave a soft moan of surprise. “Thought you were tired.”

Instead of an answer, Bruce dipped his head low to brush his lips over a spot on the side of his neck. A snorting giggle escaped Tony's lips and it prompted Bruce to draw back. “What?” He sounded rather irritated, so Stark raised an apologetic palm. “That tickles like hell. I'm so glad once all this fuzz is gone for good.” It earned him a good-natured scowl. “There was no razor, otherwise I would have taken care of it.”

With a placating hum, Tony raked his fingers through the ginger-colored scruff. “Reminds me of which - I haven't told you about our fancy hairdresser appointment yet. Barber session included.” At that, the Gothamite looked thoroughly displeased. “Is this really necessary?” The hand dropped from his beard back on the mattress. “I think a little pampering can't hurt after all those fucking miserable weeks, now can it.”

Tony's voice had an edge to it which made Bruce pull back and lean into the pillows on his side.  
“Okay.”  
He then held out an arm and Tony went willingly, snuggling up against him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony's Swiss chalet inspired by this beautiful private estate:
> 
> https://www.myprivatevillas.com/luxury/switzerland/swiss-alps/zermatt/14521/chalet-grace?locationName=zermatt&price=0-999999&sort=2


	5. Chapter 5

Tony woke sometime during the early morning hours, drenched in sweat and shivering uncontrollably. His pulse was racing all the way up to his throat, but he forced himself to remain quiet as to not wake the man next to him. He scooted out of the bed and tiptoed into the bathroom en suite, closing the door before switching on the lights. In the artificial illumination, Tony frowned at the image staring back at him in the mirror.

His face held a waxen color, with dark circles under his eyes and hollowed cheeks; hair sticking up in all directions. The gray t-shirt he wore showcased dark spots from his armpits up to the crew-neck and in between his pecs, right atop the glowing ARC reactor. With a disdained and resolute tug, the clammy fabric came off to land on the closed lid of the toilet, and Stark turned on the faucet to splash cold water onto his face.

He did the same with his armpits and toweled himself dry, but his attempt to put the terrycloth back on its hanger failed as another flash of jitters made him drop the towel. His trembling fingers then knocked the soap dispenser down into the enamel sink with a clatter. Cursing under his breath, Tony fumbled it back in its place but left the towel on the floor since a bout of vertigo made him hold on to the sink instead.

As he stood there with gritted teeth, trying to breathe through his nose until the spasm would pass, there was a soft knock from outside. When Tony took too long to formulate an answer, the bathroom door then opened just a crack to allow two concerned eyes to squint at him through the mirror. “What is wrong?” Stark's head shot up from where it had hung low between his braced arms, and he forced out a weak smile.

“N-nothing, I just... needed to freshen up real quick. Let's go back to bed, 's too early.”

Exhaling deep, he let go of the sink and proceeded to leave the bathroom, but a gentle hand landed on his wrist. At the faint tremors under his palm, Bruce's narrowed eyes flew up to rest on his fiancé's face, worry marring his features. “What are you not telling me?” Tony averted his gaze with another deflective smirk. “Just a bit jittery and shaky, nothing too bad.” Though tired and weary, Wayne was not fooled by his charade.

“What kind of withdrawal are we talking about?”

Stark pulled his wrist free. “Don't start this.” He tried to bypass him again, but Bruce planted himself firmly in the doorway, haltering his steps and not letting him escape. “Right back at you.” It was soft-spoken and made Tony sigh and run a hand through his hair, damp from sweat and curling at the edges. “I haven't had a drink in a while and it shows, okay? Nothing more. I'm gonna ride it out and soon I'll be back to normal.”

Out of nowhere, Bruce's palms found their way around his neck, thumbs caressing his jaw.  
“There are ways to make this easier. We will sort this out tomorrow. Together.”  
Stark allowed himself to be led back into bed and got handed a fresh shirt.  
  
“Knew why I hired you as my PA.”

+

The breakfast table was already set by the time Tony stumbled down into the dining room late the next morning, yawning and on the hunt for coffee. Bruce inched the bread basket into his direction while he sat inhaling his first cup almost in one go. There was a small white bottle next to his plate. Curious, Tony put his coffee down and picked it up. “What's that?”

“Ativan. A short-term solution to help with your symptoms.”

“Where did you get this?”  
Bruce's smile became cryptic and endearing at the same time.  
“I thought you knew why you hired me as your PA.”

Tony shook his head with a snort and put the bottle aside in favor of eating breakfast. He took half a pill afterward before they got dressed and ready for the appointment at a local hairdresser around noon. Bundled up in thick quilted coats, woolen hats, and scarves, they made their way down into the village. The salon was situated right in the center of Zermatt which was bustling with tourists who made it easy to blend right in.

Pierre, the salon's owner, was a delicate man in his late fifties with little hair and an eccentric pair of round, red glasses. He was ecstatic upon seeing Tony and kissed him soundly on both cheeks. Bruce who had silently taken off his coat and hat then caught Pierre's attention and prompted the older man to clap his hands together with a delighted expression. “Ah, quel merveilleux spécimen.” [What a marvelous specimen]

With a grunt, Stark shrugged out of his coat and handed it over to a waiting assistant, including scarf and hat. “Hands off, Pierre, he's mine.” Pierre huffed with faux indignation and put his arms akimbo, revealing a leather barber's belt around his waist. “Yes, yes, Antoine, possessif et gourmand comme d'habitude.” [possessive and greedy as usual] Bruce's bearded mouth curved into a rather well-hidden smile. “Antoine, hm?”

It was spoken just loud enough for Tony to hear and got him a dark glower in return. Bruce smirked even harder until Pierre took him by the biceps and, simultaneously, by surprise. “Tres viril, oui, mais beaucoup trop barbe. Beaucoup trop.” [Very manly, yes, but much too much beard. Too much] To a very audible snicker from Tony, a helpless Bruce then got steered towards one of the leather chairs with an attached sink.

“Yes, Pierre, please go and work all your magic on him.”

He gratefully accepted an espresso and an issue of Gentlemen's Journal from the assistant as he waited for Pierre who reappeared after leaving the washing part to his colleague. He did a quick number on Tony's hair and beard before heading back over to lay expert hands on the Gothamite. With a blown kiss over at Bruce's miserable figure, Tony paid in advance, promised to be back, and went outside to explore the many stores.

It did not take long before his steps led him into an optician's shop right in the heart of the city.

Once he met up with his fiancé half an hour later, Bruce awaited him already outside the salon, bundled into his coat and hat. Tony still marveled at his clean-shaven face. “In the mood for shopping expensive clothes?” Bruce's lips curled in slight disdain. “I'd rather get a workout in. My back is feeling the strain of the long-distance flights.” Tony clicked his tongue. “That requires shopping for athletic wear.” Wayne harrumphed.

“A shirt and sweat pants will do.”  
Stark rolled his eyes and threw a final longing glance into a nearby window of a luxury label shop.  
“So minimalist.”

+  
  
Back at their chalet, Tony went and took the other half of the pill with two big gulps of water. When Bruce made a move to take his jacket from him, Tony reached into the pocket of his overcoat. “Almost forgot. Here.” He held out an oblong box into Bruce's direction. “I'll be outside soaking up some sun.” With that, Stark went for one of the south-facing balconies and dragged a comfortable recliner from the corner into the light.

He crossed his arms behind his head and closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth despite the wintery temperatures. When Wayne stepped out on the balcony 15 minutes later, Tony blinked an eye open, then two, and actually had to suppress a gasp. Bruce's hair was back to its usual, trimmed length and he was sporting the pair of geometric glasses with a thin frame made from brushed metal which Tony had picked out for him.

Most of all, however, Tony was relieved to find Bruce's persistent frown that came with poor vision finally gone.

Wayne then joined him on the edge of his recliner, one of his long legs stretched out to brace himself on the floor. "You remembered." His voice was solemn. Tony shifted and pulled up his legs to further accommodate him. "Hm?" Bruce used his bent knees as a makeshift counter to put an arm on top of them. "The correct diopters." His fingers curled around Tony's kneecap. The latter first frowned, then broke into a careful grin.

"Ah, of course. Course I do. Genius mind and all that."

Bruce began to draw unintelligible circles into the denim fabric around Tony's knee. “I managed to get an encrypted message through to Coulson.” Stark tsked and clasped both armrests. “Still convinced he's one of the good guys?” A dark glance. “I'd vouch for Phil any given day.” Tony gave a low harrumph while his fingers drummed on brushed metal. “Your precious Phil, of course.” Bruce's caresses slowed to a stop.

“Phil Coulson was the only one willing to trust and work with me after I finished my initial training.”

Tony abandoned his jealous train of thought in favor of the rare chance to hear something about Bruce's mysterious past. “Why's that? Did you go egging Fury's office after passing?” The Gothamite allowed a meek smile to cross his lips and shook his head. “I was an outcast; considered too unstable, too angry. Phil showed me the ropes. He is a good, honest man.” After a while, Tony resumed his drumming.

“Alright, but we gotta take precautions for time being. False name and ID.”

Bruce reached out and took his erratic fingers in his. “Already taken care of.” His eyes then traveled higher until they rested upon the area of Tony's throat. “There is something else I still need to take care of, though.” Curious brown eyes found his. “Which would be?” At that Bruce got up and knelt next to the recliner. His fingers were cool as they found their way below the scarf around Tony's neck and dug up the jewelry underneath.

“Marking what's mine.”

Tony swallowed with difficulty but made no move to interfere until Bruce had freed the ring from its chain. “Allow me?” Wayne's question was low. Feeling like his throat was constricted, Stark simply gave a single nod. Soon enough, his engagement ring gleamed back at him from its proper place. With one hand on the armrest for support, Bruce leaned forward to cup Tony's cheek. "As soon as everything is back to normal. I promise."

They kissed, slow and sensual, under the sun shining from a bright blue sky. Eventually, Bruce got back to his feet and adjusted his new pair of glasses with an eerie familiarity. "And now, I am going to work out for an hour. How hungry are you?" Tony licked his lips and leaned back into the recliner. "Very, but not for food. Go on, but don't work yourself too hard, I've got plans for that body later on." 

 


	6. Chapter 6

As soon as Bruce was done showering, he stepped out of the bathroom with a towel tied around his hips, only to find the en suite bedroom empty. With a suspicious frown at the murmur of voice coming from the living room area, he got dressed and headed over to where Tony apparently conversed with the TV screen. “Thought you wanted to join me.” At his voice, Stark looked up and took him in.

“Got a little carried away here. Why are you dressed again?”

With an eye on the black-bluish interface of the TV, Wayne settled down next to him on the couch. “You seem pretty busy otherwise.” Tony sniffed and crossed his ankles, leaning back. “You're not the only one who can establish a secured connection under the given circumstances.” It sounded smug. Bruce cast the TV another gauging look.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning: Say hi to Jarvis. He managed to dig up some rather interesting facts. Roll the tape again, J.”

Before Bruce could say something, the screen flickered to life. “In 1945, right after the end of World War II, SHIELD made the mistake of recruiting so-called HYDRA operatives. Originally formed as the scientific research branch of the Third Reich, these sleeper agents worked on overtaking SHIELD and rebuilding HYDRA from the inside out to achieve world domination, subverting a large proportion of its agents.”

When the screen faded back to its black and blue static screen, the two men sat in silence for a few moments.

“Project Insight. They were always going to use it to bring down SHIELD.”  
  
Bruce's voice was low. Tony rubbed at the soulpatch of his goatee as he nodded along, all pensive. "Did Agent Senpai mention anything about the rest of them? What about the grumpy Eyepatch on two legs?" Wayne's gaze darkened. "Rumor has it Nick Fury is dead, but even Phil did not know if that was true." He scowled at something on the wooden table in front of him. Tony's hum eventually filled the silence.

“We gotta get to the root of the problem. Fast.”

At his matter-of-fact statement, his fiancé cocked his head. “Any ideas?” Bruce's question was meant to be of the rhetorical kind, but it made Tony's face light up. “Matter of fact I do.” Wayne quirked an eyebrow when Stark then got up to saunter over to the panorama window front, hands clasped behind his back. Nothing else followed, except that Tony started to rock back and forth on his heels. Eventually, Bruce sighed.

“Care to enlighten me?”  
At that, Stark turned and walked back over to him, bracing both hands against the headrest of the sofa. A shark-like smile was on his face.  
“You're looking at the new director of SHIELD.”  
  
Heavy silence set in until Bruce found his voice again. “Absolutely not.” With a slap to the fabric, Tony straightened up and went for a nearby decanter filled with citrus-infused water. “Absolutely yes. Seeing my father was its co-founder, it's only fair that daddy's legacy goes into the right hands. 'sides, what better way to lure HYDRA out and make them pay for their crimes?” Wayne also rose to his feet, shaking his head as he did so.

“You are out of your mind.”

Tony threw him a disdained glimpse before he reached for the device in the back pocket of his denims. “My mind's finally back in the right place. Hey Jarvis, make a note: I wanna set up the new SHIELD HQ at Stark Tower. Could you kindly take care of all necessary security measures and what-have-yous? Asap if you please.” He had barely finished speaking into the device when the AI's British voice module responded.

“Certainly, Sir. May I also congratulate you on your newly-acquired field of expertise?”

Tony pointed at the mobile with his glass of water. “See? That's the right spirit. And thank you kindly, J, I really feel like this is a huge level up.” Speechless for several seconds, Wayne lifted his glasses to rub down his eyes. “Why do I feel like history is going to repeat itself?” Stark slipped the device back into his pocket and walked around the couch that was separating them to come to stand in front of him.

“It won't, 'cause this time, you're with me from the start. Right next to me.”

Wary, Bruce adjusted his glasses and frowned at him. “I am what?” Tony pursed his lips and raised his glass of water into his direction. “Here's to my sexy second in command.” There was no reaction, so he smacked his lips after downing the whole contents. “I think Commander Wayne sounds all kinds of neat. And badass.”

“You can't be serious.”

“Oh, you bet I can. And am.”

“We have no idea what we are dealing with once we get back to the States.”

The glass made a soft clink when Tony bent down to put it back on the table. “Means we gotta pull as many strings from over here before we make an entrance.” He then reached out and looped his index fingers into the waistband of Bruce's sweatpants, closing the distance between them with a decisive tug. Their eyes met and Tony gave a seductive smirk. “However, I believe we were interrupted-”

There was a shift before his wandering hands got caught in a vise-like grip. “You don't drop a bombshell on me like that and expect me to have a raging boner for your delusions of grandeur.” The asperity of his tone made Tony narrow his eyes. With a strong twist, he freed his wrists and raised his chin. “Wonder why that is. You clearly had no problems banging your boss before. What's with the sudden game changer?”

Bruce's nostrils flared, and he flexed his fingers while his eyes blazed fire. “Maybe I am done watching you getting yourself in the line of fire time and time again? Maybe I am done catching bullets meant for you? Maybe I am done dying for you and getting sent to the end of the world in a fucking coffin!?” He voice had started out barely audible and had risen with each sentence until Bruce was one step away from yelling.

The emotions on Tony's features changed from irritation to horror and back to open anger. “Let's not turn this into a fucking pissing match on tragic life stories, because while I'm screwed up, you seem to take the cake there.” About to sidestep him, Tony gave him a brazen, final once-over.

“Also, newsflash - you're not my bodyguard.”

That was when Bruce lunged forward, grabbed him by the arm and twisted it onto his back. With a push of his knee into the small of Tony's back, he landed him headfirst on the couch, pinned to the fabric. “I am also not the butt of the joke for your personal amusement.” When there was no struggle and only wheezing sounds, Bruce was quick to release his hold and sat back on his heels, breathing harsher than before.

Tony remained where he was with one arm still on his back, the other in front of him, grabbing onto the upholstery. He slowly turned his head to the side to cough out a few times. “Guess I deserved that.” The Gothamite made a disparaging noise but remained silent. Stark then twisted around as much as his position allowed him to, with Bruce still trapping his lower legs, and squinted up at him over his shoulder.

“Alright, back off. I got served, you made your point, let me go. Fuck.”

Once Wayne did as he was told, Tony rolled over onto his back, reaching up to gingerly touch the area around his ARC. His ongoing ministrations made Bruce lean over him. “Let me see.” It sounded gruff, but his fingers were gentle as they lifted the shirt to inspect the skin around the reactor. “It's nothing.” Angered at the edge of pain in his voice, Tony scooted into a sitting position and gave a deflective wave of a hand.

“You know I like it rough sometimes - even if you're not in the mood.”  
Reassured there was no visible bruising around the ARC, Bruce straddled his hips, a hand on each side of Tony's head.  
“So fuck me. Now.”

He bent down to capture the questions inside Tony's mouth with a rough kiss.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Five days later, they sat aboard yet another long-range jet, headed for the US. After Bruce had failed to talk sense into his fiancé about his outlandish plan, Tony had given him the more or less silent treatment during the time in Switzerland, talking to his AI and typing on his phone.

There and then, Bruce regarded the man across from him. Like him, Stark was dressed in casual denim, boots, and a plaid shirt underneath a heavy-knit woolen pullover. After two hours in the air, Tony still kept his gaze out of the window, watching the clouds underneath their wings with his chin propped up on a fist. When the Gothamite made a move to get up, dark-brown eyes slid his way. Bruce opted for a small smile.

“I am going to tell Phil where to meet us.”  
  
The smile Tony gave him in return did not reach his eyes. “Sure, go ahead.” With a small, dismissive wave he was back to watching the skies. As soon as Bruce had left for the back of the jet and the spare notebook that came with every Stark Industries' private aircraft, Tony's free hand came up to rub his chest.

Using the connection provided by Jarvis, Bruce soon had contact and an unshaven, battered-looking Phil Coulson greeted him. Behind him was a dark wall, the only light source around seemingly artificial and of unpleasant cold, blue neon. “What happened?” Coulson's lips moved before the audio followed suit. “SHIELD is gone.” His voice was scratchy, and Bruce's gaze turned dark. “Casualties?” Phil's tilt of the head told him enough.

“We managed to initiate a self-destruct sequence before HQ would have fallen into the wrong hands.”

They stayed quiet in unison; an unspoken moment of silence for friends and colleagues lost. Eventually, Bruce cleared his throat. “How many are left?” Phil turned his head to look at something off-screen, prompting the visual to be once more interrupted by time-lags and static. “Apart from you and me? Less than a dozen.” Bruce suppressed a curse and glimpsed at the time displayed at the bottom of the screen.

“I'll send you the coordinates. Pick up in six hours.”

Coulson nodded, once, and Bruce mimicked it. “Be careful, Phil.” His colleague's split lips curled, though it was without mirth. “You know me.” Once the connection was cut, Bruce deleted all traces from the computer's protocol and made his way back over into the main part of the cabin. By now, Tony had fallen asleep in his seat, head drooped against the side of the leather seat, arms resting limply in his lap.

That immobile, he looked far too sallow; the skin under his eyes too dark and sunken in. Mouth twisting with renewed concern, Bruce took one of the lightweight cashmere throws from the storage above and gently draped it over his fiancé's still form. Tony never even stirred, and so Bruce resumed his seat across from him. He busied himself watching him sleep with a pensive expression and a frown between his brows.

+

They landed to a heavy downpour on a deserted, private airstrip somewhere in upstate New York. A sleek black Agusta Westland helicopter stood waiting, rotor blades already whipping in the wind. Once they had clearance and were gaining altitude, their pilot turned around and adjusted the microphone. "Good afternoon, gentlemen. How are we going to do this?" Stark kept on toying with some European fizzy drink.  
  
"Here's to the new executive floor of SHIELD. Director Stark and Commander Wayne at your service."

Phil Coulson took the news without so much of batting an eyelid. “The roster is stretched pretty thin, but they'll want in.” Tony bared his teeth in a mock-smile and raised the small can like a toast. “Good personnel is hard to find. Better vouch for their integrity.” His smile turned downright brazen and challenging when the other man looked like he was about to rise to the bait. Instead, Phil locked eyes with his former partner.

“Rumor has it HYDRA managed to hijack the Project Insight launch, despite our best efforts.”

The fingers of Bruce's left hand formed a fist. “If that's true, it would command all existing Helicarriers.” Phil nodded. “So far, nothing has happened. They are likely regrouping, too.” A hum from the third occupied seat interrupted their grim conversation. “So that's good then. Small victories.” Tony tried for upbeat to which Coulson only pressed his lips together. “More like the calm before the storm.” Bruce nodded along.

"We need to be prepared for when they strike. Better yet we strike before they do."  
  
At that, Stark leaned forward. "That's my cue. Gimme two weeks, then we'll have the best and most secured intelligence system out there." Phil Coulson's eyes darted from Stark to Wayne and back, catching the glimpse of an unspoken discussion, before he sighed softly. "Congratulations, Director Stark. I am looking forward to working with you." Tony's eyes lit up. "That sure has a nice ring to it, don't you think, Bruce?"

A muscle in Wayne's jaw twitched, though he remained quiet.

As soon as the chopper touched down on the helipad of Stark Tower, they hurried inside the large leisure deck area. Tony paused only long enough to grab a bottle of Coke from a refrigerator and gestured along with the bottle. "Jarvis will show you your rooms. I'm in the shop, planning my growing empire.” His quip was accompanied by a wink into his fiancé's direction. Bruce watched him go with masked concern. 

He and Phil Coulson then followed the AI's instructions and headed for a nearby elevator.

+

“Sir, your heart rate is elevated and your cortisol levels are rising above the norm. Allow me to contact Mister Wayne.”

From where he was bent over his workbench, heaving deep breaths, Tony chuckled against the surface of the table. “Wouldn't wanna disturb the big teary-eyed reunion there.” He rubbed his face within both palms. “Lights down to 15 percent." His AI did as he was told, and the workshop area was plunged into semi-darkness. After a while, Tony straightened up with an exhale of breath and reached for the nearest screen.

"Tell you what, J. This can't go and impair my life any longer. Access file M_Hansen_0100x.”

His fingers flew over the holographic keyboard hovering in mid-air, typing in some 20-digit code. “May I inquire as to what you are planning to do?” Jarvis' question echoed through the workshop until Tony had access to the coded server. “We're going to use it. On me.”

“Using what, Sir?”

“Extremis. Take all the data we've gathered from Maya, refine it, extract it. I'll do the rest.”

“Sir, I am obliged to inform you that inserting biochemical parts into a functional processing system bears risks of hitherto unknown alterations of your DNA. There are extensive multidimensional parameter spaces that need to be sampled beforehand in order to identify specification-compliant molecular implementations.” Tony Stark sat in the dark, illuminated only by the blue tinge of his screens. A feral grin spread over his lips. 

“I know that's supposed to be a bad thing, but that exactly what I wanna see. Make it happen, J.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

With a look of concentration on the readouts in front of him, Tony kept on scratching absentminded fingers over the small scab on the underside of his left forearm. His office was quiet and cool, windows tinted for privacy despite being up on the highest floor of the 93-stocky building. His eyes kept on darting between the two screens on his desk until a familiar voice broke the silence.

“Commander Wayne has entered the premises, Sir.”  
Tony stopped running his thumb over the sore spot.  
“Very good. Send him up, J.”

By the time there was a sharp knock on his door, Tony had rolled down his sleeve and slipped back into his jacket.

He finished fiddling with the left cufflink as he called his visitor in. “Mmm. Look at you, Sexycakes. All dressed for success. Very spiffy.” Upon Bruce's entry, Tony allowed an appreciative whistle to escape his lips. Wayne was clad in a fitted, navy-colored tactical uniform made from techno-mesh fabric, featuring a slim gray utility belt and a shoulder holster on his left. A groomed eyebrow rose behind bespectacled eyes.

“I still think this is over-the-top. Very much so.”

All cheeky, Tony raised a finger and made a 'Wrong!' buzzer sound. “It's all about corporate identity, babe. And you totally look the part. Hot as hell, too, but that was about to be expected.” Wayne deflected his shameless flattery with a dismissive grunt. “So how come you're not wearing one?” Stark leaned back and spread his arms wide, giving an excellent view of his three-piece designer suit.

“Because I am the Director. I pay for everything, design everything, and make everyone look cooler, so I get to wear a decent Tom Ford if I please.”

Bruce refrained from giving an obvious, cynical retort and instead brought the sleek StarkPad under his arm to life. “The Quinjet prototype is in the stage for final supervision.” With a small snap of his fingers and a new-found boost of energy, Tony bounced out of his executive chair.  
  
“Excellent, let's go check her out.”

+

Down in the classified section of Stark Tower which featured several laboratories, R&D departments and a private medical bay, a small group of employees bustled around. A sleek-looking stealth fighter hung in mid-air, its wings folded up to fit into the hangar-like workspace. “There she is. Ain't she a beauty? Even better than on the blueprints.” Rubbing his palms with glee, Tony nudged an elbow into Bruce's side.

“Let's go take her for a spin.”

Without bothering to wait for a reply, he snapped his fingers at a nearby mechanic. “If everything's fully charged, go and get her ready.” He received a nod and graced the man with a grin and a thumbs-up. Next to him, Bruce was back to scrolling through the StarkPad in his arm. “I actually have a meeting with-”

“Meeting, schmeeting. Reschedule, because the Director said so."

When Tony's flippancy was met with a most-unimpressed glare, he tried for a softer approach and took Bruce's free hand.

"C'mon, I know you want to. Just a quick tour 'round the block.”

At Wayne's audible exhale of defeat, Tony grinned and led the way over to the launch bay. Inside the Quinjet, it smelled of faint chemicals, leather, and metal. With a hum of appreciation, Tony stepped up into the cockpit area and sunk down into one of the two pilot seats. He waited until Bruce had buckled up next to him, both examining the view out of the faceted windshield front as the jet was brought in position.

"Project Insight featured a series of Quinjets as well."

At that, Stark hummed in agreement. "Sure did. Heavier weapons capabilities, scramjet engines - you name it." Bruce eyed the wings left and right as they began to unfold and display their true wingspan. "What's different about this one?" Tony let the seat swivel into proper piloting position. "They were created to serve on the Helicarriers-" He pressed his thumb into a red protrusion to which the whine of engines filled the air.

"- but this baby here also has sublime cloaking technology on top of things."

With a pull on the controls, they were airborne. The propulsion brought them high above the clouds in no time, and while Tony assured him they were in stealth mode, Bruce had no possibility to verify that fact. Instead, he watched him take the Quinjet through multiple spirals, barrel rolls, and other basic fighter maneuvers.

“Does it live up to your expectations?”

“Huh?”

“The aircraft.”

Tony blinked several times and brushed a hand over his temple. “Oh, that. Yeah. Enough horsepower and even more firepower to get out of any hazardous situation. What's not to like.” Bruce gave a nod while he watched his fiancé describe a narrow arc and felt the aircraft's power press him into the seat. “We are still on the manufacturing schedule, aren't we?” Tony glimpsed at him. “Yeah, half a dozen, like we agreed. Why?”

“I just wonder about the reasons for that growing armada of Iron Man armors in section 79.”

Stark's goateed jaw gave a minuscule twitch but his gaze remained focused on the skies outside.

“Saw 'em, huh.”

“I thought you said you wanted to stick to your Tom Ford suits instead.”

It sounded wary. Tony clicked his tongue and leaned left to press a combination of buttons. “Which I am. Those fellas are just for... playing defense. Remote-controlled. Gonna give us more leeway if push comes to shove.” His smirk hovered on the edge of being evasive.

“Now c'mon, grab the controls. I wanna hear your opinion on maneuverability.”

+

It happened on the homestretch with Bruce steering the jet back onto the Tower's launch bay. Tony had fallen rather silent for the past minutes, only commenting with a smile or affirmative hums while Wayne seemed to have warmed up to the unseen technological abilities of the aircraft. He brought it to a gentle stop, letting the angle-adjustable rotors take most of the jet's weight and making it touch down with ease.

"You really outdid yourself with this, I have to admit."

Fondness lay in the Gothamite's usually unfazed voice. Chalking his sluggish feeling up to the previous, gravity-defying maneuvers, Tony grabbed both armrests to push himself up to shaky feet. “Glad you approve." He let Bruce walk ahead to catch his equilibrium and his breath, but when the Gothamite turned around to speak to him, he paused and frowned. "Are you alright? You look like you are going to be sick."

Stark tried for a smile that did not really want to come out as suave as planned. "Maybe. Dunno. Everything's a bit fuzzy 'round the edges, and-" He had to forgo talking to grab a hold of a nearby side panel, heaving deep breaths. Full-blown concern was written over Bruce's countenance.

"Hey, what-?"

Only his quick reflexes enabled Bruce to catch him just before Tony could collapse on the Quinjet's floor.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of Tony's lines taken from the Age of Ultron script (2015)


	9. Chapter 9

“...-ony! Can you hear me?”

Cold fingers on his neck made him try to turn away with a soft grunt. Once he blinked his surroundings back into place, the first thing he saw was the close-up of his fiancé's horrified expression. “Wha' happ'nd?” Bruce's frown increased. “You fainted.” Tony closed his eyes once again with a disdained huff. “Ain't no damsel in distress.” Instead of an answer, Bruce pressed the underside of his wrist against his forehead.

“And you're running a fever.”

When he proceeded to pick him up, Tony weakly pushed him away and shifted into a seated position. “Nah-ah, forget it. No carrying me over the threshold until we tied the knot.” With a deep inhale of breath, he reached out for Bruce's arm. “Help me up.”

They slowly eased their way up into the penthouse until they were safe from prying eyes. The couch was the nearest option, so Bruce lowered his stumbling and unsteady cargo on it and craned his neck to consult the AI. “Jarvis, give me a status of his vitals. What's wrong with him?”

“The Sir is experiencing symptoms that resemble a severe bout of influenza.”

With gritted teeth, Bruce reached down to untie and take off Tony's designer shoes one by one. “He caught the flu? Where and when?” Jarvis took a few moments during which Bruce made short work of the tie around Tony's neck and threw it over the backrest. “My scans show that the virus is different from the usual type of influenza. Moreover, it appears to be non-contagious.” Bruce allowed himself to take a deep breath.

“Do we need to call an ambulance?”

“Negative, Commander Wayne. For now, lowering the Sir's high temperature is the most pressing concern.”

Without hesitation, Bruce went to draw a lukewarm bath, all the while listening to any sounds from the nearby living room. Wiping wet fingers on his pants, he then walked over to where Tony still slouched on the sofa in the same position as Bruce had left him, eyes closed and breathing shallow puffs of air.

“Come on. A bath will help.”

Two dark-brown eyes opened with difficulty; glazed over with fever. “Feel crappy.” It came out as a croaked whisper. Bruce reached out to brush a palm over his hair, feeling Tony's forehead singeing his own skin. “You'll feel better afterward.” He frowned when Tony's eyes slid shut again. “Mm'kay.” He made no move to get up, so Bruce slipped his arms under his prone form and hoisted him up to drag him over into the bathroom.

At the first contact of his skin with the water, Tony grumbled and protested, but Bruce remained adamant and close by until he lay fully immersed in the big tub. Head lolling against the rim, Tony blinked dark, unfocused eyes up into the overall direction of his fiancé.

“Stay w'th me?”

Bruce cupped a too-warm cheek.

“Of course.”

+

Fifteen minutes later, during which Bruce remained in an uncomfortable, crouched position next to the tub to make sure Tony would not drown, the latter began to start shivering. Wayne took it as a sign to pull the plug and wrap the shaking body into a large, fluffy towel, rubbing him dry.

“... tir'd.”

A hand brushed against Bruce's arm, making him frown. Despite the chills, Tony's skin still felt too hot to the touch. “Let's get you to bed.” Once they had walked over into the master bedroom and Bruce had wrestled him into a pair of sleeping pants and a t-shirt, Tony rolled over onto his side, curled up and fell asleep. With a soundless sigh, Wayne pulled the sheets over him and went to get two glasses of water.

Placing them both on his nightstand, he cast the dark mop of hair a pensive look.

“Temperature?”

His soft voice was met with Jarvis' also slightly lowered pitch.

“103.9, Commander.”

Tired and worried, Bruce yanked off the shoulder holster and the utility belt and threw them onto the nearest wingchair. “I want you to stop pulling rang when we are in private.” For a split second, the AI remained silent longer than usual. “Understood, Sir. Saving your preference to the Tower's private protocols.” Bruce nodded with a soft exhale. “Thank you. Keep an eye on him, I am going to take a quick shower.”

“Of course. You are welcome, Mister Wayne.”

+

Changed into sleepwear, Bruce sat propped up next to his out-cold lover 15 minutes later, reading and answering e-mail via his StarkPad. His phone started to vibrate soundlessly next to him on the mattress and he put it to his ear after the second ring. 

“Phil.”

“We picked up on a commotion.”

A glimpse at the motionless man next to him, Bruce slid from the bed. He padded barefoot over into the living room, illuminated only by the skyline of Manhattan.

"Location?"

"Washington D.C."

Bruce squinted in the semi-dark.

"Status?"

Phil Coulson could be heard talking to a female voice before his reply came through.

"Unidentified yet. Possibly kinetic."

Bruce gnawed on a dry patch of his bottom lip.

"I have a situation here at the moment. Tell your people to stick to recon until further notice."

"Understood."

Phone in hand, Bruce made his way back into the bedroom, only to stop and stare at the rumpled, empty sheets on Tony's side. Before he got to call for Jarvis, he heard the flush of the toilet in the bathroom en suite. "Tony?" Putting his mobile device aside, Bruce switched on the small lamp on his nightstand and went for the ajar door of the unlit bathroom. In the twilight, he made out his lover's slumped position over the toilet.

"Wait."

Tony gave a non-committal grunt but acknowledged help to sit on the closed toilet lid. "I think we should get you to see a doctor." Bruce held out a cup with water. After rinsing his mouth, Tony handed him the empty cup back. "I'll be fine." His voice was raspy, making Bruce wonder about the accuracy of Jarvis' diagnosis. He took the outstretched arm of his fiancé and led him back into bed.

Within seconds, Tony was fast asleep once more; his breathing even if a bit too fast. 

+

Bruce woke from a slumber he did not remember to succumb to when there was a 'thud' followed by a clink and a muffled curse. He sat up, instantly alerted upon seeing Tony sitting on the edge of the mattress. "What? Tony?" Said man turned around to look at him. "Sorry, I didn't see the glass and now there's-" Tony glimpsed down at his feet. "A mess." Wayne wiped a palm over his face to will the grogginess away.

"Don't worry, it's fine, I'll take care of it-"

He pushed himself up on an elbow and leaned over to touch the bare skin of Tony's upper arm with his free hand. It felt normal and not as dry and hot as the night before. “Do you feel sick?” Stark looked down at the fingers around his biceps. From that angle, Bruce could see him frown. “Actually no, I-” Tony licked his lips and rubbed at his neck before stretching out its kinks with a few audible crunching pops.

“I feel like I could eat a horse.”

 


	10. Chapter 10

A quick call from Bruce, then a richly-filled breakfast table down at the leisure deck greeted them 20 minutes later. Watching his fiancé dig into the lavish selection of poached eggs, pastries, fruit, and granola, Wayne could not help but to keep a pensive, almost skeptical eye on him. “Are you sure your stomach can handle that?” With a carefree smile, Stark licked pineapple juice from his thumb. “You bet.” Bruce's frown persisted.

“Where did you catch that virus for heaven's sake?”  
  
Tony shrugged, at the same time reaching for another croissant. “Who knows. Only thing that matters is that I'm feeling as good as new." Bruce looked like he was not about to let the topic slide, so Tony was quick to prattle on. "Anything of importance I missed out upon?” Adjusting his glasses, Bruce leaned back. “Something blipped on our radar. HYDRA is likely to regroup and operate from out of Washington D.C.”  
  
Tony hummed, mouth full, and took a sip of his coffee before putting the mug down. “Finally. And right where we wanted them. I'll have Jarvis update my feeds and then I'm going to-” He found himself eye to eye with a daring index finger jabbing at him. “-rest and recuperate after that severe bout of sickness.” They shared a pointed look that only eased up when Tony raised a single eyebrow.

“No, sugarbottoms, that wasn't what I was going to say.”

He sounded mildly irritated, thus matching Bruce's chagrined expression. “That is exactly what you will be doing, however, even if it means I'll have to chain you to the bed.” Their eyes locked over the breakfast table in a more or less silent battle of wills. Eventually, the fire in Tony's eyes tapered to resigned annoyance. “While I'm all for that kinky attitude of yours, I admit this might be a good time to leave things to my boys.”

It prompted a skeptical glance. “Which boys?” At the faint note of jealousy, a sly smile crept up on Tony's face. “You've seen them. My suits are perfect for luring out and bringing down HYDRA's operating officers.” Leaning back in his chair, Tony dropped the napkin onto his empty plate and hooked an elbow over the backrest. “Jarvis? Awaken the infantry. Phase I of the Iron Legion parade protocol is about to commence.”

+

Commander Wayne left for Washington soon after breakfast; on a Stark Industries helicopter with tinted windows and an order for his fiancé to stay put and get some more rest. After the rather frosty goodbye, Tony thus decided on a shower. Standing underneath the warm spray of his rainforest shower head for the longest time, stretching out his tight trapezius muscle and missing Bruce's massaging fingers, he felt a prickle.

His eyes reopened and dropped down to his fingertips where the strange sensation seemed to originate from. At the sight of the metallic, armored particles crawling over his skin, Tony barely suppressed a full-blown scream. It made the particles stop spreading and let them seemingly dissolve back into his skin until no trace of them was left. Breathing hard, Tony fumbled for the shower panel and switched it off.

Hair dripping wet, he went to consult his AI in his workshop, dressed in nothing but a towel around the waist. “Alright, I nearly freaked myself out there, Jarvis, look at that.” He concentrated until he was able to repeat his previous discovery. When Jarvis spoke, Tony felt as if he was hearing him both in his head and over the speakers. “Allow me to scan you for an evaluation of the administered dose of ECAS9 to the double helix."

Arms spread wide, Stark dropped the towel to the floor and assumed a wide stance.

“Knock yourself out.”

After less than two minutes, Jarvis came to a conclusion. “From the readouts, I can see that your genetic manipulation has been successful. Extremis has implemented your armor into your body, creating a direct cybernetic interface. Brain impulses create control over communication devices, scanning equipment, and recording devices inside the helmet.” Tony gritted his teeth at the ongoing latency that made him hear double.

“So I'm like a damn AT&T pole on two feet?”

“A connection to external communications systems such as satellites, cellphones, and computers throughout the world is possible, as is the neural projection through cellphones via electric transmissions.” Tony looked at the liquidized armor particles manifesting and retracting upon his neuronal commands. He allowed the nanoparticles to crawl all over his body, ignoring a bout of claustrophobia until Iron Man stared back at him.

“What else?”

“You will find that Extremis augmented your physiological stats as well as your biophysical frame.”

“So I can go toe to toe with any of the bad guys now and always come out on top?”

“Further tests are necessary to showcase the actual spectrum of all of your enhanced mechanisms.”

“What about this thing here?”

Tony tapped the ARC.

“My calculations show that the ongoing usage of the reactor is non-mandatory.”

“That was the whole point, wasn't it.”

Tony concentrated on letting the armor peel back until he was left staring at his naked body. He reached up to brush a palm against the marred part of his chest before his deft fingers clasped for and unlocked the glowing ARC reactor from its metal casing. The seconds ticked away in silence while Tony waited with bated breath. When the telltale signs of an approaching cardiac arrest failed to materialize, he smirked in triumph.

“Looks like my ticker's not dependent on this sucker anymore.”

“Congratulations, Sir. You have successfully healed yourself of the aftereffects of systemic palladium vascular disease and the comminuted fracture of your ribcage. The destroyed thymus gland is also starting to regrow new tissue, as is the upper right atrium.” With minimum effort, Tony applied a bit of pressure and watched the ARC crumble and deform inside his bare hand, its steady light eventually flickering out for good.

“I should also get rid of the casing. Call it cosmetics but I want to go to the beach looking like normal people.”  
The trashcan rattled as he dumped the mangled piece of metal and Vibranium into it.  
“When are you planning to inform Mister Wayne?”

At Jarvis' question, Stark paused, all pensive. “Tell you what. We'll play this one close to the chest. Bruce's got so much stuff to deal with, let's not bother him with details.” Jarvis processed this for a longer time than usual. “With all due respect, Sir, I don't think this is a wise choice, given your and Mister Wayne's history-” With a concentrated furrow of his brows, Tony's mind reached for the inner circle of his AI's programming.

“Information on private servers M_Hansen_0100x are locked. All present recordings deleted from security protocols.”

Jarvis' voice module was back to sounding as chipper and insouciant as always. The smile that graced Tony Stark's lips was a shrewd one.

“Good boy.”

+

The SHIELD hideout was an enormous complex underneath Washington D.C., laced by a tunnel system used to move heavier equipment. The walls of the tunnels were made from ceramic tiles, its ceilings supporting bright fluorescent lighting. Bruce underwent several electronic security gates before he met up with Phil and nine other agents whom Bruce recognized as members of Coulson's previous core team.

He gave a curt nod at the curious glances thrown his way before he followed his friend over to the main area of the data center. The walls were stacked with ceiling-high hardware while a multitude of screens displayed statistics, graphs, as well as GPS-related readouts in red, green, and blue lettering. The screens mirrored and flashed in Bruce's lenses as he gave them a once-over before turning to the quiet man next to him.

"Situation?"  
  
Coulson wore one of his classic dark suits and tie ensembles and seemed unfazed, except for the darkish circles under his eyes. “No further sightings so far.” Phil leaned over the closest keyboard and used a small toggle to zoom closer into a certain area, and Bruce's eyes followed the interface's motions until it stopped at a distinctive building. "The Triskelion." Coulson nodded, once.

"The signal was non-recurrent but rather strong. One would assume they'd try harder to stay hidden."

Wayne's mouth turned into a grim line as he crossed his arms.

"They probably are at a stage where that is not necessary anymore."

Phil Coulson's grave expression met his.

"We need to prepare for battle, Bruce."

“That's Commander Wayne to you, Agent.”

At the chiding remark, both of them turned around to see Tony Stark standing there in his towering 6'6 armor, faceplate up to reveal a disparaging glare out of dark-brown eyes. A flicker of refusal marred Bruce's features, though it was unclear whether it was aimed at the fact that Tony had flown over despite his request to stay put, or the rebuke of his former teammate and friend.

“That is completely unnecessary.”

Unfazed, Stark looked from him over to a quiet Agent Coulson. “See, I'm running a tight ship here, which I am sure the old Eyepatch would have approved of, so - I insist.” Despite the smirk, Tony's words were laced with a menacing undertone. Coulson cast Bruce a minuscule shake of the head and tilted his chin with a mock-demure curl of the lip. “Very well, Director.” Tony gave an appeased nod and pointed at the screens.

“What've we got?”

Coulson clasped both hands in the small of his back. “As I have just told Commander Wayne, HYDRA's got wind of the Iron Legion's actions. Their sleeper agents likely started to engage.” Tony shared a brief look with his fiancé before he tapped at his ear.

“Jarvis? Sit-rep?”

“Project Insight has been activated. Target-lock in process.”

Bruce and Phil shared a look and an almost too-easy-to-miss nod. Coulson turned to speak into a small wire at his collar while Bruce and Tony turned towards the mainframe of the complex. Wayne cast his fiancé a sideways glance when Tony started to hack into the servers and replaced some of the screens with Jarvis' trademark specifications. Stark smacked his lips together. “What number are we looking at?”

“Target count over 700,000 and counting, Sir.”

“Specify target search parameters.”

“Analyzing digital history... financial records... medical history... social media content... voting habits”

From where Bruce and Phil had listened along, it was Coulson who finalized their thoughts in a single sentence. “They are going to use all that information to predict who is or will be a threat to Hydra.” Wayne's jaw worked. "Sounds like the actual bodycount is going to be even higher." A telltale electronic whine could be heard as Iron Man curled his fingers into a fist around his palm repulsors.

“Well, they didn't count on me.”

 


	11. Chapter 11

“Iron Legion deployed. ETA: 6 minutes, 28 seconds.”

Jarvis' voice module echoed through the hidden base. Standing in a semi-circle behind the agents working the mainframe, Phil cast Bruce a glance. “That's taking too long. The Helicarriers are going to be launched by that time.” Stark cast him another scathing look. “It's gonna be enough time.” He glimpsed at the screen of a female agent wearing a headset who sat to his right at the controls. "Check your radar again."

She threw him a brief glimpse but complied. And had something to report. “Unknown objects incoming at MACH-3.” Validated, Tony spread his arms in a complacent gesture. "And while they are going to keep the heat off of us, I'll have a little tête-à-tête with HYDRA's programming." Another agent made a move to get up and offer him his seat at the controls, but Tony waved him off and put a finger to his ear again.

"Jarvis? We're going in. Stay alert if you please. I don't wanna futz around in there for too long."

Bruce glanced from Tony's concentrated expression over to the screens in front. There, the arrival of a batch of Iron Legion armors was engaging the Helicarriers in close-combat. There were at least three dozen unmanned suits out there, rounding up the still ascending Helicarriers and engaging them in close-combat battle. Volleys of repulsor blasts were fired from their palm gauntlets, doing little to no damage.

Wayne was about to comment about switching tactics when Jarvis was back in their ears. “Main algorithm misaligned. System overridden. Targets offline.” All smug, Tony threw his fiancé and the agents around them a knowing, triumphant look. “I'd say screw Project Insight for good.” With that, he glanced pointedly at the agents at the helm. Both seemed to receive a lot of data all of a sudden, seeing they started typing.

“All three Helicarriers just opened fire at each other!”

Eyes wide and uncomprehending, Bruce shot Tony a look. “They are going to cause city-wide destruction.” Tony gave an almost bored wave of a hand as he focused back on the screens which now displayed a crescendo of gunfire, smoke, and mid-air detonations. “Don't think there's gonna be much left except for dust, which -while an inconvenience to the respiratory system- is no weapon of mass destruction, really.”

Phil Coulson's voice filled the brief silence. “Except there is. Something left, that is.” They all followed his finger over to where one of the massive aircraft came veering and dwindling down in one big piece. It sliced into the Triskelion and tore it open like a can of sardines until gravity took care of the rest. What was left of the Helicarrier then came to a grating stop at the dam beneath the destroyed former headquarters.

Watching the descending dust and rubble on-screen, Tony gave a huff. "Hated that architecture anyhow. But damn, my Carriers. There go six months of some of my best work." Next to him, Bruce did not even try to hide his glare. “Innocent people may have died or have been injured, and all you can think about is your work?” With a blank look, Tony blinked twice. “My fiancé's lack of humor needs some work, too, it seems.”

Phil Coulson's voice interrupted them. “All targets are down. I repeat: All targets are down.” Bruce threw Tony yet another unreadable glance at his deadpan retort before he focused on his colleague. “Secure the area. Block all possible external communication methods – we don't want hundreds of blurred videos from nosy bystanders making the Evening News.” Phil nodded and went to work, taking four agents along with him.

Left behind in the quite empty base, Tony glanced at Bruce. Seeing he still was frowning, Stark put a hand on his shoulder. “The Legion's gonna see about potential casualties, okay?” He then gave a single squeeze to the tight muscle. “C'mon. There's nothing more to be done here.” With a contorting movement, Wayne tried to free himself from the strong grip of the gauntlet. "There is a lot to be done. Feel free to go and I-"

Tony's fingers tightened around his flesh. "For the clean-up crews, yes, not for the top brass. Exec wrap-up meeting in ten aboard the chopper. I'll just go and slip into something... comfier." Through narrowed eyes, Bruce watched him head out of the control room with a brisk stride.

+

An icy silence settled between the two of them during the time in the air. Bruce was typing away on his StarkPad, face set in stone, so Tony made meaningless conversation with their pilot which involved favorite NBA teams of past and present. Back at Stark Tower, it was also Tony who eventually broke the silence. "My, my, you're extra grumpy as of late." Wayne's bespectacled eyes traveled up over the rim of the pad and found his.

"Must be because you are being extra obnoxious as of late."  
Tony cocked his head and regarded him as if Bruce was a scientific formula begging to be solved. Eventually, he gave a flashy, winsome smile.  
"Maybe a little sparring sesh will give you an opportunity to work out all of that tension. You in?”

As they stood circling each other in the ring 15 minutes later, dressed down in black tank tops and track pants, Bruce could not help but to lay eyes on his fiancé's physique. Tony appeared more sinewy than Bruce remembered him to be. "Upped your workouts?" Stark fastened his left glove.

"Kinda, yeah."

They exchanged a quick series of easy punches as a warmup. Wayne sniffed and brushed his nose with the back of his gloved hand. "Thought you were complaining about all the amount of desk work." Stark's grin never wavered as he skipped on the spot and shook out his arms, neglecting his defense. "What can I say? Getting to defeat bad guys in spades gives me a boost." Bruce seized the given opportunity and pounced.

Lightning-fast, Tony blocked and went into a short series of swarming, hard jabs. Bruce dodged them all, though his voice was slightly hitched once he got to speak. "As it boosts your MMA skills, apparently." Tony was back to skipping, though his arms remained up. "You could say that."

One of the many pre-installed interfaces in the wall came to life with a quiet blip, displaying a closeup of Phil Coulson. Both men lowered their arms. "Director Stark? The cleanup in Washington is taken care of." Tony flexed his muscles. "Good. Did you manage to salvage the last of the three airwhales?" Coulson nodded. "The Helicarrier is in our possession. According to a first scan, the total damage is at 76 percent."

Stark clicked his tongue. "See about hauling it underground and get her ready for maintenance. Can't hurt to have one for our own purposes." Another nod. "Consider it taken care of, Sir." After a beat, Coulson spoke again. "Also, I am calling to request permission to head out and look for Nick Fury. We may have a lead." Something on Bruce's face moved, and Phil briefly cast him a glance. Tony's mouth morphed into a sneer.

"Why, I never pegged you to be nostalgic, Agent."

The man in question merely gave a cryptic smile. Interested in getting rid of the disruptive element, Stark shrugged one-shouldered.

"Sure, go ahead."

"I- was hoping to take Commander Wayne along."  
  
The words were met with a heavy silence. Upon Phil's peculiar expression, Bruce dropped his ever-present guard.  
  
"I need to check my schedule."

Before he knew it, his back hit the mat with a loud thud.

When he blinked up, Tony's face greeted him against the ceiling lights of the gym. "Your schedule says booked solid for the upcoming weeks." Waiting for the feeling of being winded to fade out, Wayne grimaced. "You're fighting dirty." With a salacious grin, Tony shifted until he was straddling him, right in front of Coulson. "Ah, but you like it when I'm getting down and dirty, don't'cha?"

Incomprehension mixed with anger shone back at him from Bruce's unguarded eyes. Tony leaned in to peck the tip of his nose. “It was a joke, not a dick. Don't take it so hard.” His professional mask of composure still in place, Agent Coulson cleared his throat to get their attention.

"Permission to go and search for Fury myself then, Director Stark."

"Yeah, knock yourself out. Good luck on your hunt for Carmen Sandiego."

Bruce, still pinned under his fiancé, raised his head and squinted at the small intercom screen.

"Report in every 12 hours. Triple-secured channel. Code sigma xi."

Phil gave a single nod to go with his goodbye.

"Commander."

+

As he stood under the massaging spray of the shower, soothing his worked muscles, Bruce stared at the black tiles, deep in thought. Tony had sucked him off right after the conversation with Phil. By the time Bruce had recovered from the impromptu orgasm, had put their boxing equipment back, and dragged his tired body into the bathroom, Tony had already showered and was dressed in a set of fresh, dark clothes.

"I'm gonna go take a look at the Carrier, see what I can salvage." 

Bruce stopped drying his hair and looped the towel around his neck. "We still need to talk about what happened today." Stark nodded along even though his eyes roamed all over the half-naked body of his fiancé. "Sure thing, Sexy. Mission report over dinner. Pick whatever tickles your fancy, and have it delivered. I'll be with you in two hours." Wayne gripped the ends of the towel in each hand, displaying a set of sculpted upper arms.

"I will see about your chef preparing something more nutritious than pizza, and see you in 45 minutes. That will be all, Mister Stark."

Something blazed up in Tony's eyes at the riposte, but he was quick to temper it down.

"Good thing I like'em feisty."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pointless eye candy inspo ^^  
> https://www.mensjournal.com/wp-content/uploads/mf/lean_muscular_muscle_body_fat_abs_main.jpg?w=1200


	12. Chapter 12

When dinner was ready, consisting of fettuccine with red pepper and feta sauce, Bruce went to collect his fiancé. As expected, Tony was in his workshop, sifting through a batch of digital images from the destructed Helicarrier. Stark raised his head before Bruce had been able to announce his presence, and Bruce gave a tentative smile. “Dinner is ready.” Tony mimicked it, equally careful. “Swell. I'll be right down.”

They ate at one of the large wooden dining tables in the penthouse, with low lights from above and the darkening skyline of New York surrounding them. After a bit of superfluous small talk about the food, Bruce made the first move. "Your strategy caused the hospitalization of 18 passersby in Washington. The collapse of the Triskelion and the dam is sitting at $22 million in damages. That, however, is just a forecast."

Tony put his fork aside to run the napkin over his mouth. Still chewing, he leaned back, right hand curled around his glass of water. His gaze rested on Bruce even while he took a sip and put the glass back. "Remember you being kidnapped and tortured? Cause I do. Remember Cambodia? Cause -surprise!- I do, too." Bruce's mouth turned into a thin line. "And your point being what exactly? Violence breeds violence?"

A peculiar expression flitted over Tony's face. With a small, quick jolt, Stark then leaned in closer. Since they sat at a right angle, it was easy to reach out with an index finger and trace an invisible line along the skin on Bruce's temple. "Back then, I vowed never to let you out of my sight anymore, babe. To keep you save. And I'll stick to that promise. Everyone who goes up against us is gonna be sorry they ever existed.”

Eyes fluttering shut at the tender touches, Bruce hummed. “Let's say I agree with your overall idea-" Appeased, Tony nodded along, his caresses extending until he was gently cupping Bruce's cheek. Hazel eyes reopened behind their glasses; clear and unmindful of the physical distraction. "Handling those operations falls under my jurisdiction as per our agreement. You didn't make me Commander of combat forces for nothing.”

Tony's jaw worked though he remained silent, his caresses slowing down. "Yeah. Yeah, okay, sure. You'll get to call the shots on the ass-kicking in the future. I can work with that." Bruce thus pressed on. “And as such, I cannot stay at home doing nothing.” Tony lowered his hand and leaned back, removing himself out of his proximity. "I could build you your own suit. That would be the safest idea." Wayne slowly shook his head.

"I neither want a suit of armor, nor do I need to be coddled. I was trained as-"

Undeterred, Stark went on as if he had not heard. "An upgrade to your uniform then. Something sturdier for fieldwork. I'm thinking sleek combat gear. Bulletproof, too. Kevlar-lined, but flexible where needed... yeah, I've already got something in mind. Gimme a few hours, then I'll have something whipped up that you'll enjoy!" The napkin landed crumpled on Tony's empty plate before the latter pushed the chair back and rose.

"Great pasta by the way. Compliments to the chef."

A kiss to Bruce's temple, then he was gone. Wayne stayed behind, plate still half-filled.

His fingers clenched around the silverware in his hand, but he forced himself to remain seated.

+

That night, their lovemaking was different.

Tony was almost savage in the throes of passion, leading to Bruce actually hissing out in pain from the force of the grip around his thighs. In an instant, the pain lessened, and Tony mumbled soft excuses against bruised skin before his lips sealed around his lover's still-present erection, taking him all the way down to base as an apology. Through the haze of lust and desire, Bruce clawed a hand into the fabric of Tony's shirt.

“Take – off – your clothes.”

His panted request was met with a lascivious shake of the head. “I like it like this. You naked and spread wide open for me.” Before his fiancé could continue to argue about their different states of undress, Tony went down on him again, one of his hands idling lower to seek for the sensitive spot below his balls. Bruce came three times that night; eventually being too worn out to do anything else but fall into a dreamless sleep.

The next morning, Wayne woke to a rumpled, empty bedside. A glimpse at the holographic clock revealed it was past 9 am and someone had disabled his 6:30 alarm. Cursing up a blue streak, Bruce got up to shower and shave, brushed his teeth, and went to search for his absent lover. Once more, Tony had hidden away in his workshop amid a huge, blue-tinged holographic interface of a large 3D Helicarrier model.

He was strutting freely through the graphic while pulling out various digital elements to turn and twist them for closer inspection, talking to Jarvis sans headset. As soon as he noticed his guest, Tony stopped in his tracks. “Bruce, just in time. How'd you feel about some large-scale Gatling guns on each flank? 14.84×85 mm caliber, muzzle velocity of 3,400 feet per second. Maximum range around 1,500 yards, give or take."

Wayne adjusted his glasses and eyed the digital specifications floating in mid-air between them. "Hn." The corner of Tony's mouth twitched. He pointed a digipen at the graphic. "I'm trying to implement some other cooling fluid than water so these babies work faster and harder than their usual models.” Bruce's eyes traveled to him. “What purpose would that serve?” Incomprehension shone back at him through dark-brown eyes.

“Why, to upgrade the Helicarrier into a lethal flying fortress of course.”

“We have taken down HYDRA and you are preparing for a non-existent war.”

Tony's lips curled into a rather condescending smirk. “War is omnipresent, my love. With HYDRA, it's like in that ancient Greek tale. Chop off one of their nine heads, another two pop up and all that spiel. We gotta keep up the momentum now that we've gained the upper hand.” Bruce's shoulders squared as his stance became firm. "I don't condone this. We are no militant organization. That's not what SHIELD is about."

Tony brushed past him with a brazen expression and a mock tutting noise. "Well, sorry babe, but the bankroller's already made up his mind." Infuriated by his behavior, Wayne reached out to grab him by the wrist. It resulted in an instant accumulation of sheer liquidized, red-golden particles which started to flow and crawl all over Tony's skin, engulfing his palm, wrist, and whole arm until they had reached his shoulder.

Jerking back as if he had been burned, Bruce stared at the formed shape of an iron gauntlet. Swearing under his breath, Tony turned his palm up and frowned at his arm until the particles withdrew and disappeared, almost as if they had never existed. When he searched for his fiancé's eyes, Bruce took an involuntary step backward, to which Tony's expression shifted into a frown. “Heyhey, now, it's okay. 's fine. Lemme explain.”

“What...- have you done?”

Wayne kept on putting space between them as he inched over to the exit of the workshop; unconsciously channeling for the closest escape route. Stark pressed two fingers into his eye sockets and sighed. “I might have gone and dabbled into nanotechnology. Turned out there were even more attractive options available than I previously assumed.” Bruce's eyes darted from his face down to his chest multiple times.

“What about your-”

He made a move to touch a palm to his own chest. Tony exhaled and tried to close the gaping distance between them again. “Only needed for additional power sourcing. Can you please stop treating me like I'm Frankenstein's monster?" Bruce's shocked expression did not lessen but at least he did stop moving. When they stood facing each other, Tony reached out with slow, circumspect motions to take Bruce's right hand.

"I'm not limited by my shortcomings anymore."

With care, he raised and put it against his chest, allowing Bruce to feel the absence of the familiar ARC casing. "Didn't want to spook you but I guess there really was no way to avoid that." Feeling warm, unmarred skin and a steady heartbeat under his palm, Bruce swallowed audibly.

"How?"

It was barely a whisper. Tony's smile was lenient. "I really don't want to get into the specifics now. What matters most is that I'm feeling better than ever. Ever since Afghanistan.” Seeing very visible protest, chagrin, and underlying horror shining back at him out of every pore of Wayne's body, Stark intertwined their fingers and pulled him towards the exit. “C'mon now, have you had breakfast yet? I'm starving.”

 


	13. Chapter 13

“So you created a formula which substitutes parts of your DNA with nanotechnology.”

Bruce's voice was flat but far more composed than one could assume regarding the situation at hand. Tony shifted so that he was able to put a bent elbow onto the backrest of his chair. “Basically, yes. Been wanting to give this a shot for years, but only recently I found the missing link to make things work.” Hazel eyes flickered to something in the back before they settled on Tony's face again. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“Cause I know you, sweetcheeks, you would've talked me out of this.”

“Could you have blamed me?”

“Why, yes - because this feels good, this feels healthy and not crippled by a fucking reactor shoved into my ribcage.”

Tony leaned forward, eyes ablaze, and put a hand on Bruce's wrist which rested on the table close to the coffee cup. “It feels like I am finally on top of the game in every sense of the way, and I intend to make use of it.” Bruce opened his mouth as if to speak, but chose to only give a soft exhale of breath. “I am glad you feel that way.” It lacked proper enthusiasm, but Tony did not seem to mind. He drew back with a mollified expression.

“Knew you'd understand."

+

After breakfast, they went their separate ways; with Tony heading back to his Helicarrier design and Bruce to work out at their private gym. An hour later, he returned to his office, exhausted after a brutal training session that was supposed to clear his head of the nagging feeling at the back of his mind; trying to come up with an explanation to the recent, subtle changes in Tony's behavior. So far, to no success.

Showered and dressed, he went to work on his notebook, sending a quick text to Phil to ensure he was available for their bi-weekly jour fixe. Five minutes later, he had an incoming video call and was met with his colleague's somber expression.

"Problems?"

“We have reasons to believe the target is still active.”

Bruce indicated for him to wait and stood up to close the door. When he sat back down, his face was taut. “Code violet?” Phil shook his head. “Not yet. But Steve Rogers initiated contact with us just two hours after the intel. Merely a coincidence? I think not.” Bruce gave a quiet snort through half-open lips. “Or maybe hearing about Washington made him extremely unhappy.” Phil gave a tilt of the head.

“He also hinted at knowing about Fury's unconfirmed KIA status."

Wayne took off his glasses to wipe off a few droplets of water from the shower and unconsciously squinted at the screen. “So it is code violet.” That time, it was Phil Coulson who snorted. “This isn't Vienna, Bruce.” Wayne smirked as he put his glasses back on. “You keep saying that, Phil.” Said man allowed himself a toothy grin. “And I'm right. The mission was a clusterfuck, yes, but my intel got us what we wanted.”

“Your intel send us on a wild goose chase all over the city. At night. In the wintertime. On a two-horse carriage.”

Coulson's face went soft with nostalgia.

“And who knew you were able to ride horses so well.”

Despite not wanting to, Bruce had to chuckle and Phil joined in, reminiscing times long gone. Then the door behind Bruce moved, and Coulson with his direct view on it instantly stopped grinning; a frosty, almost formal expression taking over on his face. Quiet footsteps approached the table, and Bruce caught a whiff of Tony's aftershave before seeing his fiancé's silhouette as he came to stand behind his chair.

“Agent.”

Coulson inclined his head.

“Director Stark.”

A hand landed upon Bruce's right shoulder, squeezing briefly.

“Gotta show you something.”

Coulson's gaze was back on his former partner, still impartial and detached.

“Anyway, Commander Wayne, let's proceed as discussed.”

Bruce gave a nod.

“Keep me informed.”

Once the call had ended he got to his feet; ready to follow his lover into what was likely to be the workshop. They were about to take the last few steps up to Tony's lair when his phone began to ring. “Stark.” A male voice over the line could be heard from where Bruce stood. Tony's features twisted with annoyance. “I'm busy. Tell him to reschedule.” More talking erupted over the line.

Tony glimpsed at Bruce and rolled his eyes for him to see. Wayne arched a brow, but then Tony cut the person on the other end off. “Yayaya, whatever. Know what? I'll deal with him, but in the future, see about stuff like that, Hapster. You're not head of security for getting a trim of your locks.” Without further ado, he ended the call and slipped the phone back into the pocket of his suit jacket.

“Looks like I gotta take this one. Are you okay with having a look at the current revamp? Just so we're on the same page."

Bruce nodded. “I am. Take your time.” Tony also nodded in return and was about to head off in a brisk stride. Only at the last minute, he seemed to remember something and turned back around. His lips sought out Bruce's, and for a moment, everything felt soft and gentle and right. Stark was the first to draw back after a few seconds, licked his lips, and pursed them immediately after. “If I'm not back in ten minutes, come to my rescue.”

+

When Bruce entered the holy halls of his fiancé, it was to cool air tinged with a whiff of electronic equipment, coffee, and a low hum of machines running in the background. In the middle of the vast workshop floated the 3D-model of the Helicarrier, smaller in size than before, but featuring a lot more details than at the beginning of Tony's tech binge. After walking around the model two times, Bruce eyed the running mainframe.

He stepped up in front of the idling computer, typed in Tony's current lock screen password and headed for the executive server. He double-clicked onto the folder 'TS_med_inc_conf' and got another lock screen. Puzzled, he tried the same password from before, only to receive an error notification. Bruce then addressed the ceiling. “Jarvis? I need access to the folder on Tony's last medical.” The AI took less than a second to reply.

“My apologies, Commander Wayne. Director Stark has prohibited direct access to any of these folders.”

Bruce frowned at the red x-symbols which marked the encrypted files on the screen.

“Based on what reason?”

“That is also prohibited, Sir.”

Irritated, Bruce closed all windows and checked his watch. By now, Tony had been gone for nearly 20 minutes.

+

Once Wayne entered the familiar office of his fiancé, Director Stark still had company. A tall blonde man stood across Stark's massive desk, and even without seeing his face, Bruce knew who he was. From where Tony sat in his executive chair, fingers steepled in front of his face, he threw his lover a glance. “Ah, Bruce, excellent timing. Meet Steve Rogers, from the so-called Avengers.” Tony's smile was fake, bordering on hostile.

“Remember when you didn't want me to become an Avenger?”

Bruce had no answer for that and instead went to shake the hand Steve Rogers had extended into his direction. They sized each other up; Phil Coulson's words playing in the back of Bruce's head. He kept his face and stance neutral, however, and the Captain then glimpsed back over to where the billionaire sat. “Well, Mister Stark, you've apparently been busy saving the world a few times since we last met.”

A wolfish grin spread out over Tony's lips. “Director Stark, actually, and you're welcome. If I remember the Chitauri mission correctly, you guys went and fucked that one up royally if I may say so myself. If it hadn't been for yours truly, well -” He gave a smug stroke of his goatee before cupping the armrests of his leather chair.

“Goes to show even demigods and crazy green doctors are no match for a super suit of armor and some badass tech.”

Rogers did not rise to the bait other than a brief narrowing of his blue eyes. “Romanov, Barton, and I are the only ones left.” Tony's features morphed into a mock-commiserating grimace. “What a sad ensemble.” Silence kicked in, only broken by Tony's fingers which started to drum an annoying little melody onto the leather. “Tell me though, what do I need you guys for when your best players on the field have gone off the grid?”

At that, Bruce's diplomatic skills kicked in.

“What Director Stark is trying to say is: We would appreciate the support of the Avengers in the wake of HYDRA's destruction. Likely several splinter groups are already reorganizing as we speak. The more helping hands, the better.” Steve turned to him, looking appeased at his intervention. “Consider us on board, Bruce.” A creak of the chair indicated movement. When they glanced over, Tony had folded his arms atop the desk.

“You've heard my second-in-command. Better get used to Commander Wayne here supervising your stints in the future, Captain.”

Being the good soldier Steve Rogers was, he adopted a crisp stance and held Bruce's gaze.

“Commander, I'm looking forward to working with you.”

 


	14. Chapter 14

The first test flights of the modified and upgraded Helicarrier took place a few weeks later at the compound of the Avengers, upstate New York. Upon his first visit to the venue, Tony had deemed it terribly old-fashioned but just good enough to make use of the vast and uninhibited premises to train new personnel to maneuver the mighty vessel. However, the latest training session of the day turned out to become ill-fated.

“For fuck's sake, man! What do you think this is? Your stepmom's 2001 PT Cruiser?!”

An irate Director Stark, dressed in a sharp black business suit over a black crew-neck shirt with lamé-effect print paced along the vast commanding center on the first floor, listening to the commando crew aboard the carrier over shrill sirens blaring in the back. The mighty vessel had barely avoided a frontal collision with a nearby hill as opposed to testing the latest artillery on a designated target range on said hill.

Up in the sky, connected via video stream, the current captain went into a mumbled apology and explanation for his maneuver. "Sir, I didn't-" Tony shushed him with a held up hand and a brusque snort. “Nope, this is where you zip it, capiche? Don't make me suit up and come up there. God, you're a menace.” He swung around, yanking off his tinted shades to blaze furious eyes over at his quiet second in command.

“Bruce! Get me the name of the idiot who can't hit a non-moving target at point-blank range using proximity rounds. Better yet, fire him. And then hire him again, so I can fire him again." Quiet shuffles and cleared throats all around followed his outburst. Tony wiped a palm over his face with a huge exhale. He then caught his fiancé regarding him with unspoken reprimand, and it made Tony sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Alright, back to basics it is. Sheesh, I need more coffee to cope with these assclowns up there. Kimberly?”

His risen voice indicated barely-tempered aggravation. Said trainee from Stark Industries in her early twenties, with glasses too big for her slim face, nodded and scurried off to take care of the urgent request. However, it was Bruce who relieved the poor young woman and who approached the pacing director with the requested beverage in one hand and a tablet PC in his other.

“You are in an even worse mood than I figured.”

With an irritable grunt, Tony snatched the proffered cup of coffee from him. “See, the more I have to deal with desk work and council meetings, the more my mood's gonna suffer.” He sneered at his lover as he took a first sip. “But look at me being such a good fiancé and stepping back to leave the spec ops branch entirely to you.” Wayne examined the challenging glint in his dark eyes and pursed his lips. "I am off as of now. ETD 4:45."

Stark put his glasses back on and raised an arm to snap his fingers once, up in the air. In an instant, the video connection with the Helicarrier got muted. As if on cue, everyone around them also started to appear being busy to avoid being accused of eavesdropping. "What about your suit? Any short-notice adjustments? If you need anything, screw this driver school circus here and I'll come and-"

Bruce shook his head and put a hand on his forearm. It was as much of a caring gesture as it was a subtle way to still his motions. "It's fine. More than fine. I will give you a thorough report on it upon return." Something like slight mollification softened the harsh lines around Tony's mouth. Nevertheless, he growled against the rim of his coffee mug. “The first thing you do is notify me once you got the fucker.”

Bruce gave a solemn nod. “As discussed.” Nodding along, Tony stepped up to him, eyes darting between his lover's. “And if I don't hear back from you every 48 hours, I'm out there in less than two hours, salting the earth.” Nothing on his face seemed to indicate a joke. Their gazes locked for a few heartbeats, then Bruce reached up to cup his lover's cheek with his fingerless gloves. “Kiss me goodbye.”

Much to his surprise, Tony dodged the caress and clicked his tongue. "Not in front of the minions." Hurt and indignation manifested on Bruce's face through a frown and a locked jaw. "I told you not to call them that." Stark took another sip of his cooling coffee. "Call me later. 48 hours, remember?" A shift went through Bruce's stance, rendering him expressionless and detached like his opposite. "As discussed."

Just when he was about to turn around and leave, fingers curled around his wrist.

"Stay safe."

+

“This is just like Moldavia.”

A few twigs cracked under Bruce's combat boots as he hunkered down in the underwood with a grunt.

“Don't remind me.”

They had arrived in Bucharest at 0400 hours, ready to apprehend the missing target known as the Winter Soldier. The target was supposed to hide at a deserted safe-house in an uninhabited, rural area. It had left Bruce and Phil to hike through miles of cold woodland and damp acreland, encountering nothing but vegetation, kettle, and the occasional rural farmer on a rickety tractor.

Coulson's white teeth appeared amid a face smeared with camouflage paint. “Perfectly understandable to be nervous after being on that desk jockey ride for so long.” Special Agent Bruce Wayne did not even bother to grace him with a reply and only huffed, to which a gust of breath became visible in the misty air. His nimble fingers plugged a small, non-standardized microphone into the headphone jack of another sleek device.

After holding the device out in front of him and applying a few touches to its surface, Bruce's eyes snapped up and found those of his partner. “Half a klick northwest. Single heartbeat and respiratory signature.” All business again, Phil re-shouldered his sniper rifle and followed him deeper into the woods. “Moldavia all over. Minus that lethal armor of yours." He eyed the carbon-plated torso of his partner with a low whistle.

Underneath layers of mud, grime, and face paint, Bruce's thin lips curled into an equally thin smile.

“Beats Moldavia any time.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony's (crazy expensive) shirt:
> 
> https://www.balmain.com/us/ready-to-wear-t-shirt-lame-effect-cotton-t-shirt-with-balmain-logo_cod12217334em.html
> 
> The suit Tony made for Bruce (which cannot be the Batsuit, for obvious, AU-verse-reasons) was loosely inspired by the so-called 'patriot suit' used in Agents of SHIELD and looks like this, though without the emblem on chest and gauntlets:
> 
> http://www.annfoleydesign.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/12/3-2.jpg  
> 


	15. Chapter 15

"Commander Wayne has initiated requested contact no. 25 at 2216 hours local time."

Tony's eyes slid from the screen he had been working on over to the monitor Jarvis was using to display various infographics related to the mission Bruce was currently on; weather conditions, local time, and intel on the Winter Soldier. It took Tony a split second to realize he had heard the words inside his head before the message got displayed. His mind probed, briefly, and instantly the status report appeared on-screen.

_'Target apprehended. Casualties: None. ETA: 7.5 hours'_

A thought, then the graphic got minimized and vanished from the screen.

During the past hours of solitude, Tony had started to learn to communicate with his AI via cognitive control; leading to non-verbal talks and an exchange of data without moving a single muscle on his face. "Anything else on the guy?" As a reply, Jarvis filled the screen with bits and pieces of grainy video material. Tony studied all of it in record time before he forced the security camera feed to pause and rewind.

"I know that road-"

2:38 minutes later, hot white and blinding rage left him to destroy parts of his workshop with his bare hands. Glass splintered, metal bent and broke as Tony wreaked havoc on any- and everything in his way. Jarvis, being the only witness to his violent outburst, remained quiet the whole time. Around ten minutes later, chest heaving with adrenaline and boiling anger, Stark reached for his jacket. "Have Captain Rogers on standby."

His own voice sounded strange to his ears after he realized he had spoken aloud. "From what time on, Sir?" Jarvis, too, was using his voice module. Tony shook the flakes of safety glass and plastic splinters from the fabric and slipped into the designer piece with a suave, fluid motion.

"From now on."

"According to Commander Wayne, the ETA is-"

Stark exhaled to force down the remaining harsh gusts of breath.

"I know what Bruce said. Rogers. On standby. Now."

"Yes, Sir."

"And have this mess cleaned up."

+

Later that day, around 6:38 pm, the Quinjet touched down on the heliport of Stark Tower with a minimal shudder. Steam from its turbines expelled with a quiet hiss and a gust of warm air, then all systems got powered down. Once Bruce and Phil stepped down the ramp, Iron Man awaited them at the hangar, looking calm but exuding a certain deadly aura behind the sleek helmet with its lifeless eye slits.

"You're late."

The electronically-enhanced voice sounded irked. Phil Coulson inclined his head.

"The weather is something we cannot control, Director Stark."

Iron Man made a heedless gesture towards the building behind them.

"Yet. Let's move this party inside. I'll take care of the rest."

They headed over to where Steve Rogers sat waiting on a large couch inside the vast leisure area. Rogers rose to his feet upon Bruce's and Phil's entrance, adopting a crisp military stance. The three men had barely greeted each other when Stark entered as well, still clad in his armor but sans helmet. Upon seeing them assembled, he laid dark eyes onto the unscathed form of his fiancé before he made a laissez-faire gesture.

“See, I usually don't have time to deal with this willy-nilly stuff myself, but I made an exception today.”

Steve looked at him with questions in his eyes, but as a good soldier, he remained quiet. That was until a man was led into the room, shackled with hand and ankle cuffs and wearing a beige coverall. Steve's eyes widened in shock. “Bucky!” He started into his direction but was interrupted by a sharp command. “Stand down, Captain.” Iron Man's helmet came on with a hiss as he moved to stand in between them.

“Did you know about my parents? Did you know your buddy here killed them in cold blood?”

Steve continued to stare at his best friend until there was the sound of a repulsor whine.

“I asked you a question, Captain Rogers.”

Silence. Eventually, Steve squared his shoulders and raised his chin.

“Yes.”

The blast caught Rogers right in the solar plexus and carried enough force to send him flying backward where he hit the floor. The ionic palm repulsor died down as Tony lowered his arm. “That was massively underwhelming, but I do appreciate your bluntness. Shame you had to lie to me. Really thought we had a connection, Capsicle.” Bruce saw his lover turn to Barnes, arm raised again.

A blade-like construct was manifesting itself from shifting particles of the gauntlet. Out of instinct, Bruce lurched forward, grabbing his elbow.

“Tony, no!”

Distracted by his objection, Stark paused, eye slits turning onto his fiancé until Bruce released him. Steve scrambled to his feet, face scrunched in pain. “I thought you were better than that, Stark.” With an air of cocky self-assurance, Iron Man gave a tilt of the head.

“How so? Cause I wield an indestructible suit of armor? Or cause I called you out on being a deceptive, self-serving, fraudulent liar? C'mon, grow a pair, Rogers.” His voice was taunting, making Steve grit his teeth. Before he could end up raising to the bait, Bruce Wayne chose to intervene once again. He forcefully stepped up in between the two of them, facing the blonde man.

“Return to your station, Captain Rogers. I guarantee you Barnes will not take physical harm.”

Steve's blue eyes darted from Bucky's chained and gagged form to Bruce and back. He nodded. “Thank you, Commander.” Bruce mimicked the curt nod and watched him leave. As soon as the door had slid shut, Tony's 6'6 armor loomed up in front of him. The helmet dematerialized, revealing two dark, furious eyes. “That guy killed my parents, nearly beat you to death, and you're going fuckin' Mother Theresa on him?”

Dauntless, Wayne reached for his StarkPhone hidden in one of the many compartments of his suit. “This is not a blood court. The lab needs to run thorough checks of Barnes. HYDRA's brainwashing needs to be factored in.” In a bout of anger, Stark snatched the device from him and crushed it within one gauntleted hand. “Enough of this bullshit. I want justice for what he has done! Go annihilate him or I'll do it myself!”

Bruce inhaled, put his arms behind his back to stand at ease, and exhaled with a slow shake of the head. “This is not justice, this is revenge.” His voice was soft. Still, Tony's eyes bore an uncommon, menacing glint. “Are you disobeying a direct order?” Bruce swallowed but held his fiery gaze.

“An unlawful order, Tony.”

Dark-brown eyes narrowed at the edges.

“That's Director Stark to you.”

At that, the atmosphere in the room dropped several degrees. Barnes' eyes darted from an equally coiled-up Coulson to the tension between them while Bruce's jaw worked in silence, then stood at a tight angle. “Committing crime is an unlawful order, Sir.” The last syllable held a dangerous intonation. It made the scowl on Tony's face deepen even further.

“I think you need to step back and think about the implications of your actions, and the effect it might have on your position within the organization, Commander Wayne.” Tony pronounced his rank with a questionable sound. Instead of an answer, Bruce released his stance and turned to where Phil stood, unwavering, but with a hand hovering close to his gun. “Take Barnes back into his cell block and give him water.”

Their eyes met, and Coulson nodded, despite not being happy about leaving.

"Of course, Commander."

+

Once they were alone, Stark's nanotech armor came off with a near soundless hiss. Clad in a designer suit, Tony leaned forward and slammed his palms flat on the massive mahogany surface of the nearby bar. “The fuck, Bruce? You're going against me for the sake of siding with our enemies? What the actual FUCK is wrong with you!?” Wayne adjusted his glasses with an unreadable expression.

“Rogers is not an enemy. He is a part of what is one of your best defender teams.”

Tony threw his arms in the air with an angry huff. “You're doing it again, I don't believe it!” He strode off to pace the front of his panorama windows, bringing most of the room's space between them. “Don't make me bring in disciplinary measures, Bruce, that's not gonna be worth it, I'll guarantee you.” The Gothamite's stance never wavered, even if his answer took some time to make it out into the open.

“If you wish to demote me, go ahead. I do not condone murder.”

Tony barked out a mirthless laugh.

“Stop playing fucking mind games here. I need to know where you stand. With me or against me.”

Bruce regarded the man across from him in his impeccable three-piece suit for the longest time. When he spoke, his voice was low but firm. “I love you. More than my life. If you feel we need a break from each other, then that is what I will grant you.” Tony exhaled for him to hear, slipped his hands into his pockets and cocked his head. “You're dismissed.” With that, he turned around towards the panorama windows.

Commander Bruce Wayne squared broad shoulders, gave a crisp, military incline of the head, and left the room with a last glance at his back.

 


	16. Chapter 16

It was later that same night when Bruce had long since retired to their private quarters high up in the Tower's penthouse. Right after their quarrel, he had vented his frustrations at their very own private gym, showered and eaten a glum, solitude dinner afterward. Around 11 pm, he then heard the front door open. Bruce remained where he was, on the spacious couch of the vast living area, typing away on his laptop.

His attention, however, was now split between the reports on screen and the sounds coming from the adjacent room. There was no further commotion until ten minutes later when Tony strolled into the room, showered and dressed in a simple navy v-neck shirt and jersey sweatpants. Without bothering to look up, Bruce spoke. “There is leftover lasagna in the fridge.” His laptop got lifted and put onto the nearby coffee table.

“Not what I'm craving right now.”

Stark tasted of mouthwash and faint espresso as he straddled his lap, cupped his face and invaded his mouth with his tongue. Tony then set out to wrestle his lover out of his leisure clothes and Bruce went along willingly, allowing him to dominate what was about to become a hot make-up-sex session. Soon, he was bent over the headrest of the couch receiving a rim job that made his eyes water with pleasure.

“Fuck me.”

At the rare occasion of him vocalizing his wanton need, Tony obliged with furious intent and a display of strength that surprised and aroused Bruce at the same time. Without any more foreplay, Tony breached him, sliding into the familiar tightness with an almost pornographic moan. Bruce took his thrusts without complaint and clawed his hands into the fabric of the sofa until his knuckles were white.

It was Stark who came first with a loud, unabashed groan soon after; fingertips leaving bruises on Bruce's hips. Tony then pulled him into horizontal, still united and gasping for breath, while Bruce felt his neglected cock give an almost painful throb. One of Tony's arms wormed around his torso and tilted his chin back so they were able to have eye contact, albeit at a, for Bruce, rather uncomfortable angle. Tony smirked.

“Wanna come?”

Tired of the submissive role, Wayne grunted. “Fuck, yes.” He felt Tony's goatee scratch on the side of his jaw before he spoke again. “Or, I could keep you on the brink of release till I'm ready to fuck you again. How 'bout that?” As if to prove a point, Stark's cock twitched inside Bruce, causing him to give a low growl.

“Finish me. Now.”

A hand clasped around his straining member, and with a couple of rough, twisting jerks, Bruce came with a loud gasp and spilled all over his lover's hand, streaking part of the furniture's backrest as well. As he lay there, panting and gathering his bearings, Tony slipped out of him and got to his feet. “Angry sex does have its perks, but let's not make a habit out of it.”  
  
Bruce turned around to watch him stand there in all of his naked glory; thick length still half-mast. “I am not angry.” At that, Tony's eyes and stance became marginally softer. He walked out to return with a wet rag seconds later and sat aside his spent body to clean him up with gentle wiping motions. “I know. Which is why I need you. By my side. Always.” Wayne reached out to grab his discarded sweatpants from the floor.

“You've got me.”  
In the matter of milliseconds, a hitherto unknown, lethal edge superseded Tony's smile.  
“Good. I'll remember that.”

+

"Good morning."

Steve glanced up from where he had been sketching into the wire-bound quad notebook. Tony Stark stood in the doorway of his room, dressed in a suave charcoal three-piece suit with a white shirt and a red tie. His expression was neutral, if calculating. Steve ever so slightly inclined his head.

"Director."

At that, Stark stepped inside and closed the door behind him. When he was not offered a seat, he slipped his hands into the pockets of his dress pants and headed for the window where a small transistor radio stood droning along softly. A whiff of expensive fragrance hit Steve's nose as Stark passed him by before he leaned back against the windowsill and inspected the sparse, non-existent decor with interest.

Ever since Steve had been moved into the Tower and was offered his own quarters, he had seen to reduce them to a cot, chair and table, and an open shelf unit which held a handful of clothes. Stark then hummed behind closed lips. "Homey place you got here. Truly brings out the military rigor." With slow, circumspect motions, Steve put pencil and notebook aside and leaned back, arms folding over his muscular chest.

"What is it that you want, Stark?"

Instead of calling him out on the missing honorific, Tony crossed his ankles.

"I believe we've started off on the wrong foot."

He sounded bored rather than sincere, and it made Steve simply raise an eyebrow.

"Is that your way of apologizing for having my room guarded?"

Stark's glare became intense, and for a split second, Steve thought he saw something like a fiery flame flash inside his dark eyes.

"It's called precautionary measures."

"I believe the word you're looking for is oppression, just like your treatment of Bucky is against any codes of the Geneva convention."

With a smooth rustle of the fabric, Tony freed his hands and pointed his right index finger at him. “Screw your Geneva convention! Your precious Bucky's not only responsible for murdering my parents but also for torturing Bruce. How fucking Geneva convention is that, huh? Did you know that as well?” Steve's eyes went wide for a second before they narrowed into a frown. “I... didn't.” Stark seethed at him with open disgust.

“Of-fucking-course not. But you still go and defend that killing machine, come hell or high water!”

Steve raised his chin. “Commander Wayne knows it wasn't Bucky who did all this - HYDRA made him do it.” What followed was a harsh, joyless burst of laughter. “Cry me a river, Cap. You really think I'd be willing to forgive and forget just because Bruce is too noble?” Captain Steve Rogers' blue eyes narrowed at the edges. “What I think is that it makes Commander Wayne a better Director than you.”

The radio clattered to the floor in pieces as Tony swiped it off the windowsill with a furious motion.

“Go fuck yourself, Rogers. I am removing you from your position as the Avengers' team leader.”

Steve also shot to his feet, bracing himself against the tabletop.

“You cannot do that!”

Seeing him flare his nostrils, Tony raised both eyebrows at him with a maniacal grin.

“I just did.”

Super Solider serum rushing through his bloodstream, Steve flipped the table between them to the side with a loud crash. In an instant, two armed guards had yanked the door open; guns aimed at him. Tony Stark held up a palm into their direction before squaring his shoulders and straightening his cufflinks. “You're under house arrest for 48 hours. Do anything stupid and you'll find yourself in a cell next to Barnes.”

His guards let him storm through while keeping their guns trained on Steve before they bolted the room shut.

+

Bruce slowed down and reached for the buzzing device in his pocket which had interrupted his early morning run in Central Park.

"Yes, Phil?"

"The Avengers are on strike. Stark has removed Rogers from his position as team leader. They refuse to work until the issue gets resolved."

Against Bruce's will, a curse escaped his lips and he slowed his steps until he was reduced to walking at a brisk pace.

"It's too damn early for this."

Coulson made a sympathetic noise.

"I reckon he hasn't briefed you yet?"

Bruce eyed the shining beacon that was Stark Tower rising above the crown of trees across from him. It was a little after 8 am and the sun was still trying to push past a tenacious onset of dark clouds which promised rain. "I'll have a word with him. Even if Tony thinks so, he does not have an exclusive final say in this." At least Phil was polite enough to refrain from commenting about their dissimilar leadership strategies.

"I will see about holding them back, but as matters stand, they are not keen on staying."

Heading back to the Tower, Bruce kicked the gravel at his feet with more force than necessary.

"I'll call you."

Ire fueled his stride, leaving him to sprint the remaining distance until Bruce arrived breathless and drenched in sweat at the main entrance. He rushed through a shower and stepped onto the executive floor, dressed in his uniform. He found Tony at his desk, an espresso cup next to him, fingers flying over the keyboard at an alarming speed while he also seemed to be in discussion with his AI.

"-and Jarvis: I want a detaining order for Floor 93 to Floor 82."

As soon as he laid eyes on his fiancé, the corner of his mouth curved upward and he stopped typing.

"Had a nice run? You're looking a bit flushed. I heard post-running yoga is the latest craze."

Nothing on Bruce's face indicated any mirth.

“The Avengers are the best defender team we have - you cannot treat them like truants.”

Expression now speaking of boredom and lingering belligerence, Tony held up two fingers. “First: Not your circus, not your monkeys. Second: They are a bunch of mismatched, rogue assholes who can't be kept in check, so I'm doing what's best. And if all this tension and the trust issues are anything to go by, I'd say this more than warrants to liquify them from my roster and my payroll once and for all. End of story. Now go and stretch.”

Stunned, Bruce let his words sink in. He forced his fists to uncurl, took a breath, and raised his chin.

“I disagree. And the council will disagree on that as well.”

In an agile move, Tony shot to his feet. Bruce did not flinch, even at the sight of his blazing eyes.

“So here's what: Fuck the council. I'll go and take direct control of law enforcement. Effective immediately. Problem solved.”

Bruce caught himself shaking his head and wet his dry lips.

“What has gotten into you? This isn't you.”

“This is so fucking me, you better believe it, Bruce. I finally am in a position where no one gets to fuck me over, no matter what, or there'll be hell to pay! I can bend things according to my will, just like that.” He raised a hand and made a snapping motion with his fingers. Bruce's features crinkled with worry. “That's called dictatorship, Tony.” Stark's hands came down to land flat upon his desk with a thundering crack.  
  
“No! It's called having a sense of responsibility and knowing which buttons to push to maintain control.”

Bruce's eyes traveled from the indention in the solid mahogany back up to his irate fiancé.

“You are obsessed with control, and the worst part is you do not even realize the ramifications of it. I know what this entails. I've been there.”

At that, Stark actually laughed at him; at his face. It was not a friendly laugh. “Such fancy, philosophical words for a PA. Feel free to find yourself another sugar daddy who puts up with your brooding miserable shit all the time if you can't handle real power, poor orphan boy.”

Bruce's lips were pressed into a tight, almost invisible line as he stepped forward until his thighs touched the edge of Tony's massive desk. With a sharp tug on his uniform, he put his torn rank insignia down in front of the other man. “It's for the best to put some space between us for a prolonged period of time.” The stunned look on Tony's face soon morphed into one of open hatred.

“Once you set a foot out of this room, don't bother to come crawling back. Got enough sycophants to last me a lifetime.”

It was a mere hiss, his voice cold as ice. Wayne gave a slight incline of his head. “So be it.” Head held high, he turned around to walk for the door. There was some rustling from behind, then vise-like fingers dug into the flesh of his upper arm, spinning him around. “Fuck this, Bruce, you don't know what you're doing!” Hazel narrowed behind clear lenses and traveled down to where Tony was mangling his biceps in a bruising grip.  
  
“As do you.”

Stark followed his gaze and released him on the spot, though not without a small shove.

“You'll regret this. I promise.”

Bruce paused in the doorway, hand on its frame, and risked a final glimpse over his shoulder.

Tony stood there, in the middle of his vast office, fists clenched at his sides and chest heaving, seething at him with pure venom.

“I already do.”

 


	17. Chapter 17

The Nylon straps of the worn duffel bag creaked upon the force Bruce fastened them with. A brief talk with Jarvis informed him that Tony had headed out to Malibu in his suit shortly after their fallout, and there seemed to be something like honest regret in the artificial British voice module.

"Sir? Director Stark requested for you to take a special item along."

Angry, Bruce yanked the packed duffel from the bed and slung it over one shoulder.

"Which is?"

"You will find it on the kitchen counter."

Sensing some sort of trap, Bruce nevertheless forced his feet to lead him over into said area. The open space lay empty, and his eyes were quick to spot the object in question. Eyes narrowing behind his glasses, Bruce picked up the mangled piece of metal from the otherwise empty and clean kitchen counter. The small platinum band looked as if it had been crushed between a pair of pliers - or strong fingers.

"Jarvis?"

"Yes, Mister Wayne?"

Bruce slipped the remains of Tony's engagement ring into the breast pocket of his jacket and zipped it shut.

"Don't contact me. No matter what he says."

+

A knock on the door made Phil look up from his computer.

"Come in."

Bruce opened but remained standing in the doorway. At the sight of him in civilian clothes -a nondescript ensemble of dark cargo pants, matching Henley shirt and a leather jacket on top- Phil cast him a questioning raised eyebrow. Wayne shifted the duffel bag higher up his shoulder.

"I'm leaving."

Years of working together told Coulson more than Bruce would be willing to share. He rose and walked around the desk. "Need a place to stay? I can organize something. Short notice." Bruce tensed, then gave a shake of the head. "I'm not dragging you into this." Coulson crossed his arms. "Something's been off for a while now." Thinking back to the redacted files and the injection Tony gave himself, Bruce stayed silent.

Knowing about the Tower's all-encompassing surveillance, Phil chose to simply extend a hand. His former protege and partner of many years was quick to grasp it, firm and steady, though his expression was strained.

"Take care, Phil."

"Certainly. Of SHIELD as well. Times are changing - faster than we might have thought."

His voice was modulated as usual, but his eyes held a certain hopeful glimmer which reassured Bruce his decision in leaving him behind was the right one. With a final pat to Coulson's arm, Bruce turned around and headed for the long and sterile corridor with its three elevators that made for the fastest way downstairs. No more than three seconds later, one of the doors opened with a soft, dinging sound.

"Bruce-"

Again, Wayne paused in the doorway, hand on the light barrier. Phil gave a slight tilt of the head.

"Be careful out there."

A nod, then the doors closed soundlessly behind him.

+

Tony touched down on the wide crescent-shaped sun deck of Stark Mansion with a loud, metal clang on terracotta tiles. Sweat pooled in the small of his back and dripped from his hair onto his shoulders and chest as he let the nano suit peel back; having pushed himself to the limit all the way from New York. The urge to wreak havoc on everything in sight was still as strong, and he debated going on another heavy g-force run.

"Jarvis? Power up the workshop."

"Right away, Sir."

Grabbing a bottle of isotonic pomegranate-raspberry drink from the fridge, Tony all but downed its contents in one go before squashing the plastic bottle with a crunching noise. "I can't believe the gall of him! Who the fuck does he think he is?! I gave him the fucking world, only to be stabbed in the back, just like that asshole Obie!" He flung the crumpled plastic through the air, uncaring where it landed.

"I reckon you are talking about Mister Wayne, Sir."

Seething under his breath, Tony stormed down the concrete stairs to his workshop. His AI was farsighted enough to open the sealed door before its creator could punch the console to pieces. Jarvis then spoke. "Sir? Your cortisol levels are spiking. Allow me to monitor your vitals." From where he had balled a tight fist, Tony stared down and noticed a fiery glow running through the veins on his hands and arms.

"What the fuck is going on? Jarvis!?"

"It seems your Extremis' dosage has crossed a critical threshold." 

"I've injected myself almost a month ago, how the fuck is that happening only now?"

"The virus in its current form is apparently feasting and growing additional tissue by itself, overlaying several stimuli and centers in the brain connected to stabilizing hormones. An unknown side-effect, if you will."

"So make it stop!"

Jarvis remained silent for a few moments, and Tony saw him run several diagnostics on a nearby monitor. His vitals were indeed looking off, even if he felt powerful instead of weak. Tony fought down the urge to gnash his teeth and smash a fist into the nearest screen while he waited. Eventually, the AI addressed him again. “I suggest an experimental treatment on the reuptake of your neurotransmitters via serotonin and dopamine."

"Any idea how to do that short-notice? Because like hell I'm waiting another week if there's shit growing inside me!"

Unperturbed at Tony's unusual hostility, Jarvis mapped out the necessary steps Stark had to prepare himself on the screen. "A dose of 5-hydroxytryptamine and 40 mg/mL dopamine hydrochloride administered directly into the affected cells should provide a stable foundation.”

+

For once, the workshop was silent as Tony prepared the necessary steps according to Jarvis' instructions. 45 minutes later, he emptied the clear liquid from a slim syringe into the vein on his arm, pressing down until the whole contents disappeared under his skin. Shaking out his hand, Tony threw the syringe into the nearest trashcan and sat back, reaching for a sterile cotton pad to dab at the injection area which oozed a bit of blood.

"Verdict, J?"

“No significant differences regarding your heartbeat, pulse pressure, caudal arterial blood pressure, ventilation amplitude and frequency.”

Taking his fingers off the cotton pad, Tony was pleased to see the pinpoint prick was already healed and gone.

"So this was just futzing around?”

“I do detect a significant rise in your serotonin levels already. How do you feel, Sir?”

Tony probed his mind. Once, then twice. He realized his eyes had flickered shut and he reopened them with an exhale through his nose.

“Calmer, I think?”

“This is just a makeshift solution. Continuous dosages have to be administered to ensure steady serotonin levels.”

Tony chucked the small cotton ball into the trash and rolled down his sleeve. “Maybe Maya's got something up her sleeve. Send her a message with the stats. Previous and current. Inquire about steady-state levels of mood boosters.”

“Right away, Sir.”

"Wait, no, call Bruce first."

"I'm afraid Mister Wayne has explicitly stated not to be contacted."

Tony knew his short-term remedy was already working since he felt no fiery urge boil up within him; a feeling he had gotten used to in the past weeks. "Try at least, will you. On speaker." After two minutes of listening to the automatic voicemail speech, Tony told Jarvis to disconnect. His jaw worked as he headed up the stairs into his living room, watching the sunset create intricate patterns all over the walls and the carpet.

"Can you track his phone?"

"Negative, Sir. It seems Mister Wayne has turned off his mobile device after leaving the Tower."

Meandering over to the open kitchen area, Tony reached for the fridge. "So find other ways to track him! He likely either headed for the airport or central station. Run a live search on every CCTV you can find." The bottles inside the fridge door rattled as he yanked it open, remembering the very last second not to apply too much force. "This will take a considerable amount of time, not to mention the violation of several laws."

Tony grabbed another isotonic pomegranate-raspberry drink and slammed the fridge shut. "Screw the law, I'm not hacking into the Pentagon again, I'm looking for someone." With that, he threw himself onto the huge living room couch. Legs dangling from atop the armrest, Tony started up at the ceiling for the longest time, emptying his drink until he had to fight the urge to burp at the massive intake of carbonated liquid. 

"And?"

"Mister Wayne cannot be located."

Tony slipped the empty bottle on the nearby coffee table and rubbed his face between his palms. After another moment of hibernation, he got to his feet with a nimble roll and went to fetch a StarkPad from the kitchen. With a few angle adjustments, he put it across from him on the table.

“Is this thing on? Good.”

Tony then sat so that he was seen up to his torso, sniffed and stared at something at his feet for a few moments before he sucked in a deep breath and raised his head to look straight at the camera. “Okay, you don't want to talk to me, which is your prerogative and all that... clearly. This also means I have to resort to more drastic measures.” He wet his lips and ran a hand through his hair, scratching at the strands in his neck.

“You already noticed something's wrong with us -okay, with me, actually- and I want you to know that it's not your fault, okay? None of it. It's me. God, that sounds so corny, but, yeah, I just-” His brows furrowed and Tony wiped a hand over his face to smoothen down the visible reactions his apology was leaving behind.

“I may have gone overboard with this DNA stuff. Yeah, I know you're probably saying 'I told you so' right now, but then again, you've always been the rational one of us..." His gaze drifted off to somewhere behind the screen, and Tony frowned at the distance before focussing back on the camera which kept on blinking red.

"See, I'm...- I'm working out the kinks now, okay? I dunno how long it'll take, but I hope that once I'm done, we can get back to... to how things used to be, because, damn it all-” Tony inhaled sharply through his nose and expelled a gust of breath in a forced chuckle.

"- I fucking love you. And I know this doesn't make everything right on the spot, but-"

Something then made him crane his neck to glance out at the ocean behind him. His face twisted with disbelief.

“What the fuck...-?”

+

It was already dark outside when Bruce entered the small room he had rented under an old alias, paying cash. The motel was run-down, with a pungent smell in the hallways, dirty furniture, and semi-functioning sanitary installations. He already regretted his choice and made a mental note to head out again soon to look for an abode better suited to his needs.

There had been no sign of Tony or the Iron Legion whatsoever, which was not saying much since the technological advantage was on Stark's side, but Bruce had at least been careful not to leave a trace in public. He put the small bag of groceries and bottled water he had bought aside and dropped onto the edge of the bed. There was no other seating arrangement, only a rickety footstool in the corner occupied by a small tube TV.

After wolfing down the two sandwiches and downing a whole bottle of water, Bruce pulled out his phone and stared at the dark and inactive surface. His thumb hovered over the switch for the longest time, then pressed down on it until the device came to life with a flash of blue.

The screen instantly filled with several missed calls from none other than Tony, and Bruce was about to shut it off again, relieved not to have missed out on something from Phil, when the phone buzzed with the notification of a missed video. He stared at the icon which blinked in a slow but steady fashion, indicating an unread message. Leaning back against the headrest of the bed, Bruce then pressed play.

“ _What the fuck-?”_

The feed got severed mere seconds after Tony's exclamation, leaving behind only static. Bruce lowered the mobile device in his hands, frown between his brows and teeth gnawing at his bottom lip. His left hand came to rub at the dark bruise blossoming on his right bicep, just below the hem of his t-shirt. He then went to speed dial and pressed the phone to his ear. Tony's voicemail answered without a single dial tone.

Without waiting, he dialed another number by heart, only to have its recipient pick up at the second ring.

“Phil, I need you to check something for me-”

"Bruce! Have you heard already?"

Coulson's voice was unsteady, sounding as if he was walking somewhere fast.

"Heard what?"

A brief silence on the other end got his heartbeat racing. Phil then cleared his throat.

“Turn on the news.”

From CNN to BBC to every other news channel available, headlines were everywhere. _'Horrific Attack On Billionaire Mansion – Stark Presumed Dead'_ was running on repeat on all news tickers while shaky live footage from news helicopters was showing off the smoldering remains that used to be Tony's posh estate at Point Dume. Chest heavy with dread and horror, Bruce turned down the volume and picked up the phone again.

“Phil? I'll be there in an hour.”

+

From there on, Bruce went into autopilot mode.

He arrived at Stark Tower half an hour later, and Phil met him at the main entrance where five heavily-armed SHIELD agents stood guard. “The whole AI system has gone offline. Our people try to retrieve it but apparently, the mainframe was stationed in Malibu. The Iron Legion is down, too." Bruce took the news with a stoic nod as he strode ahead, his stance belligerent.

Coulson was quick to match his stride and steered him towards the stairs since all elevators were not yet back to being operational without a power sourcing that did not include Jarvis. "They must have had motion sensors to track him down. Long-range missiles. We're still tracking their source. HYDRA's definitely not operating in-country. We're lucky they didn't go for the Tower, otherwise, the casualties would've been-”

At that, Bruce's shot him a look, face twisted with mourning rage. Phil stopped and averted his gaze.

“I'm... sorry for your loss.”

When their eyes met again, Wayne's were ablaze with determination.

“We need backup for a counterstrike. Assemble your team.”

 


	18. Chapter 18

The room in the basement was lit by battery-powered industrial lights and filled with half a dozen people.

"We have tracked down the long-range missiles and located their facility.”

Close to the doors, Barton and Romanov sat, exuding a quiet but deadly atmosphere. To their left, Barnes kept glancing at his best friend seated on his right. Rogers had been quick to offer their help after Phil and his team had worked hard to clear Barns from the brainwashing program HYDRA had bestowed upon him. Now they both wanted nothing more than to wipe the organization out for good.

"Baron Wolfgang von Strucker operates out of Sokovia. A small country with a population of less than 27,000. Poor infrastructure and little to no natural resources. The perfect hiding spot for HYDRA to regrow its organization." Phil switched slides and presented a digital world map which zoomed out and back in until it only featured Eastern Europe. “Their base is hidden in this old fortress. Next civilization is over 200 miles away.”

Like the rest of the team, Bruce listened to the rapport with no visible emotions, staring at the fortress on a hill that was surrounded by thick forest vegetation. He had switched his glasses for a pair of contact lenses right after his arrival. It left him to blink against the uncommon feel ever so often. Coulson showed the fortress from a few other angles, though some of the pictures were grainy; taken by an unmanned, aerial drone.

"It appears heavily guarded by HYDRA troops who seem to be equipped with weapons of a superior category. The forest around the base is also fortified with watchtowers and bunkers.” Close-up shots showed the weapons in question, to which the three members of the Avengers cast each other knowing and slightly alarmed looks. When the screen went dark at the end of Coulson's mission brief, Bruce was the first to speak up.

“We're going in via air. Helicarrier, a Quinjet.”

He looked over at Rogers who gave a single nod. Phil closed the notebook with a circumspect motion.

“Two Quinjets then. Provided no one wants to sit on my lap.”

Bruce negated, holding his gaze. “I need you up there on the Helicarrier.” Realization made the older man curl his mouth in dismay, though the rest of his face remained even. “Teams of two don't work on a group of five.” Wayne's glance traveled around the table. Then he gave a meek smirk.

“I'll be fine.”

+

Once the meeting was over, Bruce excused himself to see about his combat suit. The nagging misery in the back of his head, which he had effortlessly pushed aside for time being, now returned full force upon going back into Tony's lair and the living quarters they had shared.

The silence all around, even more exacerbated by Jarvis' absence, was uncommon and disconcerting. Wayne went through the motions of checking his gear and had it packed up to take along. Instead of leaving the room, however, he put the duffel down, stepped up to the heavy mahogany bar, and braced both palms against its cool, sleek surface, staring ahead into nothingness as pictures came alive in front of his inner eye.

He saw Tony on what he remembered was one of the very first weeks at the Tower. Saw him laughing as he fixed them two drinks at the bar, having just commented on Bruce's once-again prim outfit while Stark himself was decked out in ratty jeans and a threat-bare shirt. Tony's eyes were twinkling with their usual warm mischief as he handed over a tumbler filled with ginger ale.

_"To us, and to a future without global threats."_

_Bruce took it from him with the usual sparse, half-there twitch of his lips._

_"That is an ambitious goal to have."_

_Suckling off excess liquid from his thumb, Tony raised his own glass and clinked it against his with care._

_"I'm a very ambitious man, for starters-"_

_Once they had taken a few sips, Tony put both of their glasses aside. With a nimble little hop, he then slid up to sit on the massive bar and reached out to pull Bruce closer by the lapels of his cashmere cardigan._

_"-but you know that already."_

_A slow and lazy smile curled Bruce's mouth as he moved in, placing his hands left and right of Tony's hips._

_"I do."_

_Two legs crossed in the small of his back just when he leaned in for a kiss._

  
A door in the back opened with a soft click.

“I'm not letting you do this.”

At the voice, Bruce craned his head to look over his shoulder. “Do what?” Coulson stepped inside and closed the door. “Act like a damn martyr to avenge his death.” Drawing in a breath, Wayne straightened back up to face him. “I'm not.” Upon the flat look out of tired eyes he received, an unsmiling Phil gently shook his head. “I know you, Bruce.” Thin lips disappeared in an even more severe line.

“Do you?”

Unfazed, Coulson stepped up until they were inches apart. “I let this slide because you're grieving. But getting yourself killed is not going to bring him back. And we need you here.” Silence. Bruce stared at the bar again, touching its surface as if to ground himself. Phil dared to put a hand on his shoulder and was not shaken off. He felt the tremors under taut muscles; saw the way the Gothamite fought for composure, and squeezed.

“It's okay.”

And there, hidden from anyone else's view, Bruce Wayne hung his head low and gave into the shuddering breath that escaped his lips. His former mentor stayed quiet and let him take a few heavy gulps of air, anchoring him with his hand until Bruce raised his head again. His eyes were glinting with tears which had remained unshed. “You're still on Helicarrier duty. I need a capable pilot I can trust. That's an order.”

Coulson slipped his hand off in slow motion, mouth curved into a smirk.

“Bastard.”

+

“Harrier 1, this is goshawk 5. Ready for takeoff requesting permission on platform L15.”

Clint Barton's voice was steady over the comm. High up on the commando bridge of the Helicarrier, Phil Coulson replied in an equal crisp manner. “Goshawk 5, roger. Cleared for takeoff on platform L15. Caution for potential incoming at 7 o'clock.” Barton flipped a few overhead switches and glanced at his copilot. Natasha nodded, adjusting her microphone. “Can confirm.”

They went into a quick, final pre-flight sequence before they were airborne.

In the back, wearing their respective armors, Steve, Bucky, and Bruce sat strapped in on the benches. To their feet rested a small arsenal of ammunition and a handful of wingchutes. Phil's voice came on over the speakers again. “Goshawk 5, switch to frequency 385. We're in cloaking mode and cannot provide covering fire.” Barton did as he was told. “Carrier 1, copy that. Goshawk 5 turning left for zero-nine-zero.”

“Goshawk 5, roger that. Happy hunting.”

Ever the professional, Phil signed off without any additional comment. Bruce was grateful for that, even if he knew his long-time friend did not agree with the planned operation. It demanded Bruce, Steve, and Barnes to infiltrate HYDRA without drawing attention, capturing all present agents. Clint and Natasha would clear up the surrounding area from the Quinjet first before coming to their aid for additional ground support.

It did not take longer than ten minutes, then the Quinjet had reached its destination, hovering in mid-air in stealth-mode. They had a small 1.5-minute window until HYDRA was sweeping the airspace above their fortress again. Flipping the night- and heat-sensor goggles over their eyes, Rogers, Barnes, and Wayne moved to the back, checking and refastening the harness that held the Stark Industries wingchute made for paratroops.

Despite Rogers and Barnes being equipped with the Super Soldier Serum, their current mission required them to enter the target zone unseen; a feature the coverall-wingchute provided. The hatch of the jet came down without any noise, leaving them to stare down at the dark, gaping nothingness of the night. Steve stepped up first and let himself fall into the open with a final nod over at his friend and at Bruce.

Barnes was the next in line, but he, too, glimpsed back at the quiet man.

"Good luck, Commander."

Wayne nodded.

“Meet you at the rendezvous site.”

+

Wind whipped in his ears as Bruce sped headfirst through the night, cutting the air in a steep angle to make for a quick landing. Though the chute inhabited a cloak-mode via its techno fibers, it also meant less maneuverability than in combat gear. Through the special goggles, Bruce scanned his surroundings and picked a spot without any heat signatures on the east wing, close to the crenelations from several centuries ago.

The wingsuit dismantled with two strategic pulls, and Bruce balled it into the smallest piece of fabric possible to stuff it in between the first wide-enough ridge of bricks he could find. Carrying it along would mean extra weight, so the plan was to stow the equipment for SHIELD clean-up crews to retrieve it later on. His combat suit blended in with the darkness, but Bruce had to duck to avoid being spotted by a roaming searchlight.

The fortress was heavily guarded, though a previous aerial site inspection had shown that mostly electronic camera systems and motion sensors were used from 2 - 5 am. Drawing his gun, Bruce slipped past the sensors and laser-light wire traps, making his way down to gain access inside. A small transmitter from his utility belt decrypted the codes for the first three doors in less than five seconds, and he slipped inside.

There, Bruce pushed his goggles down to hang around his neck as artificial light illuminated the hallways. He ducked away into the shadows to let a patrol of HYDRA soldiers in uniform pass in goose-step; finger on the trigger, holding his breath. He remained unseen and glimpsed at his arm. His wrist communicator, attached to the left gauntlet for easy access, showed Rogers and Barnes were almost in position. 

According to the plan, they were working their way in from the north and south wing respectively. The west wing was directly facing an abyss that led into the forest many miles down below, and it was the one they were going to meet up in once the whole area was cleared. What Bruce had not told any of his colleagues was that he had picked the east wing solely because it was the one wing which held Wolfgang von Strucker.

Von Strucker, once a SHIELD member, had gone and stabbed the organization in the back, revealing himself as the current leader of HYDRA after the battle at the Triskelion. Bruce remembered the man as a pretentious snob of German heritage, several years older than himself. His ultimate betrayal and the fact that he most likely ordered the kill on Tony made Bruce's blood boil.

He was the one Special Agent Wayne had a score to settle with. 

+

“Sir?”

He frowned at the insistent beeping and familiar voice which roused him from a sleep he did not remember to fall into.

"Sir, your brain activity hints at a level of full consciousness."

Once he blinked his eyes open, everything was dark.

“Jarvis? What the fuck happened?”

“You have been attacked. The mansion has been completely destroyed.”

Tony probed his body and mind. As if on cue, Jarvis showed him all of his vitals were intact; Extremis had prevented him from taking any real harm against all odds.

“So where am I?!”

“Still in Malibu, Sir. 644 miles under the sea."

That got Tony to sit up promptly. He felt the sluggishness of his movements and realized the suit had engulfed him before he must have hit the water since his skin and clothes felt dry. He sat up, swirling around sand and pieces of rubble and steel beams. Something alive hushed past him, scurrying away at his movement.

"Contact Bruce. Contact HQ."

His gaze roamed around as he initiated for the nano suit to engage the internal oxygen supply and to calibrate the settings to be able to move and withstand the heavy atmospheric pressure that came with being below sea level. “I'm afraid I have lost connection to the Tower, and to Mister Wayne. The only connection I am able to maintain is through your neuronal activity and cognitive control."

Scowling at nothing and everything, Tony glanced upwards. From the bottom of the sea, the light above the surface was non-existent.  
  
“Then let's get the heck out of here.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Info on the HYDRA base taken from here:  
> https://marvelcinematicuniverse.fandom.com/wiki/HYDRA_Research_Base  
> 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The muse apparently kicked into gear on the homestretch - one more chapter (+/- epilog) after this one
> 
> Also: Possible warnings for descriptions of physical violence in battle and its aftermath. Not extremely gory but could be considered disturbing.

The two guards in front of the door were dead even before making a sound, and Bruce disposed of their bodies in a nearby corner of the hallway before reloading his gun and activating the small UWB tracker made specifically for through-wall radar imaging to determine any movement. Upon finding none, he pocketed the device and tried the door handle. It was not locked, and Bruce slipped inside.

The front part of the room was dark, and, from what Bruce could make out, sparsely furnished. An area to the left, connected by a huge stone arc instead of a door, showed faint light coming from a desk. Someone sat at it, and the profile of the man unleashed a bout of adrenaline in Bruce.

"Strucker."  
Weapon up, Bruce stepped closer until he was facing the other man at a distance.  
"It ends here."

Von Strucker turned his head to look at him, monocle flashing in the light of the desk lamp. He did so with what Bruce had to admit was less panicked surprise and more calculating annoyance. "Agent Wayne. You have come a long way - in the most literal sense." His German accent was thick and filled with sarcasm. Bruce kept him at gunpoint, tilting his head towards the room's entrance area.

"Up. Hands, too. Over there."

Strucker got to his feet to do as he was told, albeit with a sneer. "Let me guess - you are going to kill me to seek revenge for your dead lover, aren't you? How disgustingly pathetic." At the dirty chuckle that followed, nothing on Bruce's face moved; only a muscle in his trigger finger did.

"I won't kill you. Yet."

Bruce aimed a few inches lower and fired a single shot. It impacted in Strucker's leg and brought him down with a scream of pain.

"First, I'll make you pay."

German profanities were spat at him while the man nursed his shattered kneecap. Bruce approached him, gun still trained on his head, and circled him once. "Hands where I see them." His wrist transmitter gave a vibrating buzz, and in the split-second Bruce's eyes flew down, von Strucker seized his chance. There was a bright, bluish blaze, then a searing hot fire engulfed Bruce's right thigh, numbing it through the bone.

The smell of burnt flesh reached his nostrils, and his leg gave out by itself. Bruce made rough contact with the ground, trying not to give in to shock and the graying edges that threatened his vision. Through watering eyes and with gritted teeth, Bruce glimpsed down and saw the gaping hole that had been drilled into his leg. It was about the size of a fist but did not bleed since it was cauterized by the burn itself.

Despite that, Bruce could not feel anything from his right hip downward.

Von Strucker sneered at him through his own, pain-filled grimace. "Not such a smart man, are you, Agent Wayne?" By that time, he had hobbled back into a standing position, bracing himself against the edge of his desk, unfamiliar weapon again aimed at Wayne. It looked like a foreign, almost different kind of repulsor-like palm blaster, just small enough to fit around a wristband and into a sleeve, hidden from view.

With shaking arms, Bruce reached for his sidearm which lay a few feet away. Before he could grab it, another blast from the strange weapon pulverized his semi-automatic. It had started to glow even brighter than before, as if running too hot, though von Strucker held on to it undeterred. Sweat ran down Bruce's bangs and temples, dripping onto the Kevlar of his suit as a pained smirk appeared on his paling lips.  
  
"You'll die tonight, any which way."

"You first, Wayne. And I will enjoy it."

Von Strucker made some adjustments on the weapon, to which it gave a high-pitched noise. Before he got to aim it at Bruce again, something that sounded like a detonation countdown set in, and von Strucker had no choice but to let go of the weapon with a curse, throwing it into the direction of Bruce. Immobilized, Wayne only managed to duck and roll out of the way before an explosion blasted the wall behind him off.

It created enough destruction to send a good portion of rubble and dust down on the Gothamite before momentum sent him tumbling down as the ground gave way under him. Despite the agony of his mangled limb, Bruce managed to hold on to an edge with both of his hands. His frantic eyes then rested on Strucker's face which appeared above, snarling and malicious.

Without warning, Strucker raised a foot to stamp down hard on Bruce's fingers. Thankfully, the combat gloves meant solid protection, so Bruce held on undeterred, even if the wrist comm broke from a vicious kick. As he hung on, trying to come up with a plan to gain back ground, Strucker's face contorted with hatred and pure venom. “Fucking bastard, give it up already.” He then aimed his thick booted heels at Bruce's face.

At the first contact, Bruce saw stars. He tried to duck away and simultaneously gain momentum to swing himself up on the ledger, but Strucker's kicks were relentless. When the bones in his nose broke with a wet crunch, Bruce cried out and lost grip with his left hand. Dangling from one arm, with the wind rushing in his ears, he then made out another, albeit faint, whining sound.

Dimly, he was aware how Strucker's body jerked twice before it tumbled and fell past him, hurling into the forested abyss down below. Barnes' face appeared in its wake, and he reached down to grab Bruce's arm and pulled. Semi-conscious, the Gothamite tried to reach up with both hands but felt the muscles in his forearm cramp up. Barnes hunkered down until he was lying prone on the ground, lunging over the edge.

“HANG ON!”

He needed two tries until he was able to grasp for Bruce's left hand. Inch by inch, Barnes then started to rob backward, pulling Wayne upward. They almost had made it up halfway when the unstable ground under Barnes started to crack and gave way with a crack. Without thinking, Barnes released one of Bruce's hands to claw his metal arm tight into the remaining precipice, leaving his good arm curled around Bruce's wrist.

Frantic at the threatening chasm gaping at them, Barnes called out at the man swinging in mid-air.

“Stay awake! You hear me? Wayne! Hold ON!”

A wave of dizziness obscured his vision as Bruce tried to blink up. The winds blew around them, giving Barnes a wild halo as his hair whipped around his face. Face numb from pain, Bruce dropped his head back to his chin. “Let go. Save y'self.” Barnes' eyes were wide. He had no way to reach for his comm, and his good arm started to feel the strain from having to carry the weight of Bruce's armored physique.

“NO! I owe you! Stay awake, goddamnit!”

Debris crunched and gave way, coating them both in a sheen of dust as the edge of the wall continued to crumble.

“Can you reach your comm? Wayne!?”

Bruce's eyes slipped shut even if he made a move to reach for his utility belt. His hand shook and missed, and he choked on a glob of blood which ran down his throat. His fingers started to loosen in Barnes' grip. “Let go. 's alright-” Before Barnes got to yell at him again, the whole precipice gave way with a crunching lurch. They both tumbled into a free fall, headfirst into dark masses of the forest surrounding the fortress.

Barnes screamed, even if Wayne did not, hardly conscious at that point.

A flash of light and a whine from a distinctive repulsion system followed them down and caught them; halting their fall with a harsh jerking motion.

"Got them! Medevac needed, we're coming up. Hatches down."

Iron Man's voice cut through the air, though whoever he was speaking to could not be heard replying. Aghast, Barnes stared up at him, eyes wide, as his metal arm was safely encased in the humanoid's grip. Blue eye slits met his but turned to the limp man hanging from his other arm.

“Hold on, I've got you.”

With the wind and the blood rushing in his ears, Bruce squinted upward at the blurred, shiny silhouette once before everything went dark.

+

Consciousness returned to him in seismic waves, eluding him for a while as blackness pulled him under several times anew. Eventually, he managed to listen to hushed, male voices from far away, sounding familiar even through the haze of medication and pain.

“How is he?”

“Unchanged. I told you I'll...”

The whispering moved out of his hearing range until it died down; somewhere, a door snicked, and footsteps moved on metal floors. Something shuffled and there was movement right by his side. “Please.” The familiar baritone was merely an exhale but sounded so close that Bruce thought he felt a warm gust of breath on his face. He tried to respond, even if it did not produce any discernible sound. Still, it prompted a reaction.

“... Bruce? Can you hear me?”

Opening his eyes hurt, even if it was only halfway. What he saw was a blurred silhouette in front of a gray area, and his woozy mind supplied him with the notion that he was without his contact lenses, though Bruce could not remember if, when, or how he must have gotten rid of them. Even at the risk of making a fool of himself hallucinating, or at least being on very heavy medication, he then dared to voice his suspicion.

“... T'ny?”

His voice gave out at the second syllable as blood ran down the back of his throat and made him cough. In an instant, an arm curved around his shoulders, gently holding his head forward until Bruce felt thick warm liquid run down his nose. A white towel or tissue was held under his face, becoming soiled with crimson fast. He gagged. The voice was back, soft and gentle, and the fingers around his shoulder gave a comforting caress.

“Easy, easy. Breathe through your mouth. That's just the rest after the emergency operation.”

The presence around him sounded, felt, and smelled so familiar, Bruce had to bite back a moan. Seconds later, there was another caress to his hair. “Your nose was fractured in several places. They've reset it, but you'll be sore for a while. Easy. Breathe.” The blurry Tony-vision oscillated, and the Gothamite felt the world tilt before he closed his eyes. The last thing he thought he heard was a stifled sob that sounded like his name.

+

When he woke again, it was to the sound of rain against glass and a different ceiling; white instead of Helicarrier gray. From what he could make out, his nose was trapped under some sort of cast, allowing him to breathe through his mouth only. Nothing seemed to hurt, and a sideways glance revealed an IV bag to his side, going into his arm.

Before he could try to pierce the string of memories from the past 24 hours together, there was movement above. Seconds later, and with his vision only as blurry as he was used to, Bruce found himself squinting up at a countenance he thought he had made up during the post-battle haze.

“... how?”

It came out more of an exhale, but Tony -dressed casual, hair in disarray and beard uneven and stubbly- had understood nonetheless. He leaned in closer, his eyes somehow ever more prominent within a haggard face. “Turns out I'm not that easy to kill. You, on the other hand-” His attempt at cheeky bravado ended with a shaky chuckle. “Fuck, you scared me. If I hadn't caught you in time...”

Not knowing what to say, especially with his head still swimming, Bruce frowned and wet his dry lips. “B-barnes?” At the mention of Bucky, Tony's face displayed the briefest flicker of unease. “Keeps asking for you. He and Rogers both. All of them, actually. You're SHIELD's collective worry. But now you're awake, they'll be relieved.” Reeling from emotional and sensory overload while not getting in sufficient air, Bruce shifted.

After a moment, however, he stopped, hesitated, and glanced down the white sheets. “Something's wrong... my... leg, what-” Before he got to reach for the blanket and lift it, a hand came down on his, preventing him from further movement. “No, you need to take this easy, you've lost a lot of blood. Relax, it's not-” Weak but still straining against the hold on his fingers, Bruce started to frown. The heart rate monitor beeped louder.

“Let me see.”

At the firmness in his words, Stark's forced cheerful facade crumbled. He released him with a miserable expression and Bruce slung back the cover to stare at the place where his right leg used to be; its stump bandaged under a thick layer of white gauze. Blood rushed in his ears, and Tony's voice sounded far away, wrapped in cotton wool. “They couldn't... God, I – Bruce, please, it was...” Stark buried his face within his palms.

“I had to choose between letting you die or let them take your leg. I couldn't... I couldn't.”

Bruce said nothing, fighting against a sudden urge to vomit. He closed his eyes and summoned all of his training and meditation skills until the worst was over, then exhaled slowly through his lips. The fabric of the crisp hospital sheets rustled as he fumbled the blanket back over his body to hide the truth. “I need to be alone for a while.” Alarmed, Tony's head shot up and he got to his feet, grabbing the safety bed rails like a lifeline.

“Please-”

Without meeting his gaze, the Gothamite kept staring up at the white ceiling.

“Please leave.”

Stark waited for a few heartbeats, only to hang his head with a defeated sigh.

"Of course."

Once he was alone, Bruce waited for the tears. When it became clear they would not come after 15 minutes, he closed his eyes, listened to the rain, and allowed sleep to overtake him, so that he did not have to think any longer.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Info on Wolfgang von Strucker courtesy of:  
> https://marvelcinematicuniverse.fandom.com/wiki/Wolfgang_von_Strucker


	20. Chapter 20

The next day when he woke, the rain had stopped, leaving the skies overcast. Tony was by his side again; keeping a silent bedside vigil while reading something on a sleek StarkPad resting within a solid, brushed metal casing. Upon seeing him awake, Stark put the device aside and leaned forward, something else in his hand.

"Here. If you want them."

Bruce's body still felt detached from his mind, but he managed to reach for the pair of glasses and slipped them on, despite the off-kilter position atop the nose cast. With his vision fully restored, he could see Tony's clothes were rumpled, most likely being the same from the day before, and his face spoke of little to no sleep; with dark circles underneath his eyes and his hair and beard messy and unkempt.

"Give me the facts."

Bruce's voice was scratchy but adamant. They shared a long look. Tony was the first to break it by glancing at the blanket.

"No sugarcoating I take it?"

A shake of the head. Tony nodded, more to himself, cleared his throat once and spoke, eyes traveling out of the window.

"You were brought in with 80 percent of your leg's bones, nerves, and blood vessels severed by some sort of hitherto unknown energy-focused weapon. By the time you went into medbay, the remaining leg tissue had already started to die from lack of oxygen and nutrients. It left the doctors no choice but to amputate before you would have died from heart failure." The ticking of the clock was the only sound for a while.

"You did the right thing."

Wayne also did not look at Tony directly as he spoke and fixated a spot further down the room, close to the light switch instead. He made no move to draw away when warm, dry fingers curled around his hand, mindful of the IV going into it. “There's a possibility to fully restore your mobility.”

“Prosthetics you mean.”

“Not necessarily.”

Bruce now frowned at him, and it was enough for Tony to elaborate. “Extremis. Tampered-down to a particle-solution less than 65 percent to regrow the limb. One injection only.” Disgust marred Wayne's features. “I thought you've learned your lesson and were done with the whole thing.”

Stark's eyes blazed. “I have and I am! Maya's currently revamping the formula to extract all final negative ingredients and cross-contamination factors. From then on it'll be a whole new ballgame. I promise.” Bruce tsked and tried to pull away, but Tony's grip around his fingers tightened.

“I need you to trust me, even though I fucked things up. But I... - Please. Let me try to help. If there's any fucking chance to make this right, then I want to be the one who fixes it. I _gotta_ be the one to fix this.” At his fervent tone and gaze, Bruce eyed him with skepticism. “So I get to become a raging testosterone-laden alpha-male with zero self-control as well?” At the blunt accusation, Tony hung his head low.

“I was an absolute bastard.”

“Agreed.”

Fingers still entwined, Tony heaved a big sigh. “I should've told you earlier what was going on.” Wayne slipped out of his grip to reach for a nearby cup of still water. “You should not have messed with your DNA in the first place.” Tony nodded along as he took the cup from him but made no move to join hands again. “Desperate times and all that.” For a while, neither said a word. Bruce then swallowed around a rough throat.

“Is the formula stable now?”

From where he had inspected the callouses in his palms, Tony glanced up.

“You mean if I am stable now.”

“That, too.”

Tony sniffed against the stale hospital air. “We still need to tweak a little with the testosterone overload that perseveres, but the biggest problems are gone. Things might still turn ugly though when I start crying at sappy movies and stuff.” Bruce's battle-weary features morphed into a careful smile. “I can live with that.” Stark gave a disheartened smile in return before he turned it at the floor and into a frown.

“Can you live with me as well?”

It came out as a quiet murmur. Wayne looked down at his own hands. Despite their gloved protection, they were showing some footprint-shaped bruises. When he focused back on his apprehensive-looking lover, his eyes turned a bit softer. “I told you I love you more than my own life. That didn't change just because you changed.” Tony swallowed hard, nodded, and looked out of the window again, jaw set tight.

“Promise me you think about my offer.”

Wayne held his gaze for the longest time, then gave a single nod. Tony breathed out and briefly closed his eyes.

“I don't deserve you, you know.”

Tired, hazel eyes crinkled slightly at the edges.

“Oh, I know.”

The amusement within his dry riposte made them both smile; timid but filled with a glimmer of hope as well.

+

Maya Hansen, whom Bruce learned was an unparalleled authority on genetic and nanotech reprogramming, came into play four days after he got released from the medical facilities area of Stark Tower. Once Wayne had agreed to give their method a try, Tony had told him they needed to get to work as soon as the wound was still fresh, to avoid unnecessary re-tearing of tissue and prolonged pain.

“So. You are 'The One'.”

Resting propped up on a gurney up in a secluded workshop area of the Tower, Bruce stopped pulling at the tight shirt and shorts combo Tony had bestowed upon him for the procedure and eyed the dark-haired woman and her air-quotation marks with wariness.

“The one?”

Maya's sly smile hovered between serene and cheeky. Suddenly Bruce found it easy to imagine her and Tony back at the campus some decade ago, creating double trouble. “The one who doesn't put up with Tony's shit and managed to make a rightful man out of him.” Bruce's cheeks heated up and he scowled at the hem of the shirt once more. “And look where that got me.” He purposely avoided glancing further down his body.

Pretending she did not recognize his gloom, Maya gave a merry-sounding hum under her breath as she continued to type in yet another string of fast-paced commands into a nearby medical console. “In the past few weeks, I've seen a side of Tony I didn't even know existed. The way he works has always been erratic, but seeing him so driven, so determined... that's new to me. So, I do think you're somebody special.”

She walked over to hold a small cylindrical instrument against the space above his hipbone. It involuntarily made him look somewhere else, and Bruce dared to glance down at the stump that used to be his leg, wrapped in sterile, self-adhesive tape. Done with whatever measurement she had taken, Maya gave a gentle pinch the small strip of skin with a mock-stern expression. "No need to get used to it, Mister Wayne."

A small smile played upon his lips as he then raised his eyes to meet her pensive gaze.

“It's Bruce.”

She cocked her head, smiling back.

“Maya, then.”

Tony reentered the workshop while they were still smiling at each other and wiggled a finger over into their direction. “Ah, ah, ah - no ogling of or flirting with the patient, Magical Doc Hansen, Bruce is already taken.” She winked at the man on the gurney before putting up an angelic smile. “From what I came to learn – mostly for granted mostly, no?” The almost too quiet snort Bruce gave still reached Tony's enhanced hearing.

“Fraternizing buggers. Are we all set?”

He inspected Maya's readouts quickly and nodded at her settings. When Bruce caught his gaze, Tony made a two-finger motion from his eyes to Bruce's. “Flirt machine. Gotta keep an eye on you, leg or no leg. Ah, by the way, while we're at it – how about a shot of Extremis 2.0 to also cure your hyperopic astigmatism? Anything goes, you know.” With a grunt, Wayne laid back into the pillows on the elevated gurney.

“Stop showing off and get on with it.”

Maya, perceptive as anything, started to look around pointedly before coming to a conclusion.

“Sorry, I forgot something upstairs. Be right back.”

Once she had left the room, Tony inched a hip upon the gurney and reached out to cup and caress Bruce's clean-shaven cheek. “A kiss? For luck?” His tone was cheeky to deflect from the way his eyes brimmed. Bruce gave him the best deadpan expression he could muster up. “Luck. That sounds reassuring.” He paired his ribbing with the slightest upward tilt of his chin, and Tony instantly leaned down.

Their kiss was chaste but full of emotion. When it ended, Tony stayed where he was, to gently put their foreheads together, mindful of Bruce's healed but still tender nose. “I love you, y'know. Always.” Tony's words were soft-spoken, his breath ghosting over Bruce's face. When Wayne re-opened his eyes, he found large brown ones already open and staring at him from close up. He gave a soft, almost too easy to miss smile.

“I'll be fine.”

Without breaking the moment, his left hand traveled across the mattress until it found Tony's fingers and squeezed.

“Let's do this.”

+

Coming out of the fog that was another heavy general anesthetic made Bruce feel sluggish and on the verge of nausea. Without ado, he was handed a small bucket and had to make use of it only seconds later. When nothing but dry heaving came up, gentle hands took the bucket away and provided a clean, warm rag that got wiped over his mouth. He grumbled and was given water through a straw directed to his lips.

“Sorry for that. This knockout juice's a doozy when you're not dosed with full Extremis to cushion the after-effect.”

Grousing around the straw, Bruce pulled a face. “Thanks for the heads up.” The awful, bitter taste in his mouth remained, despite the water. Stark clicked his tongue and took the glass back to put it aside. “Some things are best left unsaid to avoid getting all antsy in advance.” He started to pull up a few holographic diagrams which Bruce was too tired and fuzzy to inspect from afar. At the tug of an IV in his arm, he frowned.

“How long was I out?”

Tony blinked and started to tweak with some of the graphics, trying for suave.

“30 going on 31.”

It was meant to sound casual, but Bruce had very well seen the slight shiver going through his lover's body.

“Minutes?”

When Tony faced him, a shadow of worry clouded his expressive features.

“Hours.”

Not knowing what to reply to that, Bruce focused on the very reason for the procedure. It did not look any different than before, except that his non-existent leg was now hidden under a sealed, custom-made orthosis instead of the previous white gauze.

“And now?”

Tony rolled his shoulders and put up what he hoped was a steadfast expression.

“Now we wait.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maya's 'The One' comment is a shameless easter egg reference to one of my older one-shots, though I doubt anyone caught it. Awk.


End file.
